


ESC

by TheRoarOfAtlas



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe-Ferals, Cages, Degradation, F/M, Feral Behavior, M/M, Muzzles, NOT petplay, Started For The Thirst Party, This got very long, Treating Humans Like Animals, Way Too Much Plot With Some Porn, Wrestle AU: Feral Peril, behold all my weaknesses, rough beginning, triggers listed inside, wrestlers without the wrestling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2018-12-20 18:01:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11926251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRoarOfAtlas/pseuds/TheRoarOfAtlas
Summary: You're either born lucky or born tough.[x-posted to Tumblr]Enjoy!





	1. Beast And Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains brief mentions of ticks and scabies, as well as human muzzling of a non-BDSM variety and allusions to previous abuse.]

Heyman’s Delights was, at its heart, a traveling circus. There were tents, a few acrobats and strongmen, fire-breathers. Paul had been trying for ages to get his hands on something a little more _exciting_ , and it seemed like he’d finally managed it.

 

For one reason or another, there were people in the world deemed _unfit_ for regular society. Usually displaying extreme aggression or overly predatory tendencies at an early age, they would put an incredible strain on _loving_ parents and _concerned_ siblings until tensions snapped. All roads tended to lead to Heyman’s Delights or other such traveling shows for these individuals.

 

The thing that boiled your blood was the fact that they were nowhere close to as inhuman as they were made out to be. Most of them could easily be suffering from hormonal imbalances or other undiagnosed issues. But due in part to the media hysteria (there had been an _incident_ involving one such ‘feral’ child getting their friends to remove their school-mandatory muzzle so they could spook the teacher) and also in part to what you could only assume was parents that didn’t want or couldn’t afford another child, people were clamoring left and right to surrender their ‘feral’ children to various state-funded programs.

 

And if the government wouldn’t take them…might as well make a buck or two getting rid of your problem. If you could live with yourself afterwards.

 

“Bought them off of another one of those _local_ shows. According to their owner Wolf was nineteen when he came into their possession, government releases them when they’re legal adults and no parent wants their kid back when they’re like _that_. He’s unsure on Beast.” Paul Heyman sighed, a little heavier than you expected. “Vince threw Wolf in for free, said he didn’t need one without the other. But he hasn’t been trained as much as I was led to believe at first and he’s past thirty. This bleeding-heart _altruism_ is punching holes in my pockets faster than I can line them.” He rubbed his temples. “We’ll just have to see what we can do, I suppose.” Recognizing the dismissal, you nodded and stood with the rest of your coworkers.

 

You had seen the photos of Beast, he appeared to come with a set of fine cauliflower ears. It wasn’t rare to stumble upon underground bare-knuckle rings where the dregs of society would bet money on the so-called ‘ferals’. Common belief was that they were _subhuman_ , more resilient to pain, stronger, stupid. Hyper-aggressive outbursts tended to be calmed via distraction, dangled food or cattle prods the only two options you’d witnessed in person. Thousands of videos existed on the internet of ‘ferals’ silently devouring cheap microwave burritos or gas station hot dogs, fresh blood still dripping off their faces. Even more videos were shaky camera footage of the abuse, the prods or beatings.

 

No one seemed to make the connection that since most of them were sold off or surrendered young, they never got the chance to develop like normal children. Instead they were used as amusements, poked and prodded through the bars until a reaction was obtained. Then, John Q. Public would move on to the next thing, heart rate up and laughing with his friends about how he “ _wasn’t scared at all!_ ”

 

You had signed on with Heyman a few years back, literally running away to join the circus. You were sick of being in one place, a stuffy room sandwiched between other stuffy rooms in a building that seemed all but abandoned by your landlord. Paul warned you that the work would be hard, the pay would be garbage and that you would more than likely have to sleep in a tent. You’d just nodded and signed your name, happy to accept all those shortcomings in exchange for the variety of a traveling life.

 

Heyman quickly seemed to realize that you were no quitter. Despite everything he threw at you, you carried on doggedly unloading and loading the trucks town after town. Your persistence had been a thorn in your side at every other job you’d had, but here it appeared to _finally_ be useful. Paul would go to you for tasks that _needed_ to be completed and you saw to it, simple as that.

 

His new acquisitions needed new housing so you, English and Gotch spent a good portion of the day putting together a sturdy cage for them. According to Heyman, they were currently kept in wooden crates with the barest slats in them for viewing. “I want my beasts to be able to stretch and move!” He instructed the three of you. Gotch just nodded, letting English gush about the _genius_ _of Paul Heyman_ while handing you a scrap of lumber to cover the bars. Aiden English was a kiss-ass through and through but he was also a classically-trained thespian, able to easily adopt any role pushed upon him. Not to mention the _singing_. Simon Gotch was very much the classic circus strongman. Like something straight from P.T. Barnum’s era, he had the mustache, the one-strap singlet, and the boisterous laugh of a man out of time.

 

You sat astride the bars of the roof, silently staring at the beams of lumber. “Hey, I was uh…I was thinking, maybe instead of wood, we should have a cloth roof? I mean, the two of them will be boxed up when we travel.” You suggested. “It would let in a little more light for them, and it’s not like we can’t just put a piece of plywood over it if it rains.”

 

“What, like a sheet?” Paul squinted at the roof for a minute. “I don’t see the harm in it. Saves me from buying another box of screws. The bars are still there.”

 

From your perch on the roof, you caught sight of a dingy van trundling along the road towards your campsite. There was a small trailer attached to the van. “And here comes the cavalry.” English muttered to Gotch, who nodded grimly. You studiously avoided looking up while Heyman moved to greet the van’s driver and gather up his new prizes. English tossed an old, tattered blue tablecloth to you and you wove it in between the bars of the cage, carefully smoothing out the wrinkles so it would lay flat.

 

You were in the middle of securing the sheet down to the sides of the cage when there was a loud, high-pitched roar from the trailer. An angry snarl followed, the two ‘ferals’ obviously not pleased with their surroundings. You swallowed hard as the full gravity of your predicament hit you. The whole caravan was being put to the test by the new acquisitions. If either of them got loose or something to that effect…

 

You squared your shoulders after a minute. You weren’t about to be scared off by a little noise. You had done your research, determined to see them as the people that they were and not the monsters they were always made into.

 

“Come over here and meet your new charges, boys! You too, sweetheart!” You rolled your eyes at Paul but obediently swung down from the cage and dusted yourself off, following the other two men to stand by Heyman. “This is Mr. Vince McMahon, he’s the gentleman parting with these fine specimens.” Paul continued, flattering the old man who appeared to have the leathery skin of an alligator.

 

You extended a hand to Mr. McMahon, cringing inwardly when he scooped your palm up and pressed it to his lips. “ _Enchanté_.” His _voice_ reminded you of an alligator as well, raspy. French was obviously not a familiar language to him. He released your hand after what felt like an eternity and you resisted the urge to wipe it off on your dirty overalls while he shook hands with Gotch and English. “It pains me to see these boys go.” He patted the side of the tiny trailer and then flinched back when the whole thing rocked. There was a thud like something had fallen over. “Whups, sounds like they’re roughhousing again. Guess I’d better uh…” Vince fumbled around under the front seat of the van before tugging out a cattle prod. “They were shock-trained, of course.”

 

“Of course.” Heyman echoed. You caught English and Gotch’s worried looks at one another out of the corner of your eye. At least you weren’t the only one sure Paul was in over his head here.

 

“Sir, if we could…maybe _not_ rile them up just yet?” You said quietly. “My associates and I would like to see the size of them, make sure our enclosure will be sufficient.” That was a bold-faced lie of course, and you _felt_ more than saw English staring at you incredulously.

 

There was a loud whiffle of breath from the trailer. One of them was scenting the air. You wondered how terrifying this must be for them, trapped in a tight, dark space that moved and rattled uneasily. “Of course, they’re all yours. They’re secured and separated by a wall, naturally.” Vince unlocked the back of the trailer and swung the doors out. “Never know what they might do.” He chuckled, his laughter quickly dying off as the inside of the trailer was revealed.

 

It appeared that the separating wall had buckled or shifted during the transit. _Or was pulled down_. The hulking blond Beast barreled towards the open doors from the rear of the trailer. You didn’t even have time to _think_ , body frozen on the spot.

 

A colorfully-marked arm abruptly hitched around Beast’s midsection, halting him in his tracks bare inches away from you and giving you an up-close look at the blond’s strangely-phallic chest tattoo. “ _Shit_ , Beast!” Vince shouted, sounding more irritated than scared. “Knock it off!” The blond snapped and thrashed, struggling against the one you could only assume was Wolf. “You want to get zapped again, you piss-poor freak? _Get_ back!” Vince brandished the cattle prod, making Beast snarl loudly in reply. “That’s right, you know what this does! So cool it!”

 

Wolf took Beast back a step, but then Beast lashed out with a vicious elbow and broke free. You dimly noticed the loose end of his chain trailing along behind him on the floor before Beast sent you crashing to the ground, the back of your head slamming into the dirt with a vicious impact. Your vision swam with reflex tears and you grimaced in pain, scared stiff as Beast pinned you with his body weight and screamed in Vince’s direction over your head.

 

_Something_ suddenly plowed into Beast’s side, throwing the blond off of you. Vince caught Beast in the ribs with the cattle prod, continuing to holler abuse. Wolf stared down at you and you stared back up, wishing you could stop shaking. His hair was matted and overgrown, hanging in his face. All you could make out was a pair of brown eyes studying you warily. You swallowed after a minute and his eyes tracked the motion, watching the way your throat moved before snapping back up to your face. “Hello?” You tried, flinching when a smile flashed through that thick hair.

 

“H-Hi.” He sounded almost _shy_ , his voice deep and a little shaky. Definitely not what you’d been expecting. He tilted his head and then retreated cautiously back into the trailer, sitting at the edge and watching as Beast ate a few more volts.

 

You sat up slowly and English was instantly at your side, looking panicked. “Oh my goodness, how are you still conscious?!” He sputtered.

 

“Just my rotten luck, I guess.” You grunted, rubbing the back of your head. “ _Jesus_.”

 

“There you are, see? Gentle as a lamb.” Vince panted, standing over the cowering Beast. “Now I’ve got to be going, so if we could move this process along…”

 

…

 

Paul had _definitely_ bitten off more than he could chew. All Wolf seemed to want to do was sleep, and Beast delighted in tormenting the other man through the bars of their cage. The original plan had been to display them to the public in an enclosure they could interact with each other in, but Beast ceaselessly savaged Wolf until Paul put a sturdy divider in their cage.

 

Beast quickly became Heyman’s favorite, due to how he paced and scared off the bravest of souls by screaming and lunging to the bars at the most random of times. He was the picture of crazed animal, all froth and fury. Paul loved it.

 

Wolf would wake up out of his sleep at mealtimes, usually offering you a grunt, sometimes a “ _hi_ ” if he was in a generous mood. You stayed to talk at he and Beast as they ate, Beast snarling into his food. You had lost most of your fear from Beast knocking you down, understanding that he had probably just gone for the first shot at freedom that he saw and it was unfortunate circumstance that you stood in his way. You had jokingly appointed yourself as _head of feral nutrition_ , knowing that if you avoided Beast because he had scared you, you would never get past the incident mentally. It helped that there hadn’t really been any _competition_ for the position either.

 

“Hey, I’m sorry about what happened the day you came to be with us, Beast.” You said hesitantly one night. It wasn’t _fair_ that they were kept in tiny cages, even if Beast seemed like the mauling type. You didn’t think your own sanity or temper would hold up well under the duress of constant captivity, especially if you were crammed into a sardine can with someone you didn’t like.

 

Wolf looked up at you curiously when you began talking, ’ _hmm_ 'ing in his throat and then returning to his food.

 

“Just like everyone else.” Beast had never spoken before. You hadn’t been sure that he _could_. Tiny blue eyes narrowed at you over his plate. You knew that staring only made the person doing it look stupid, but you couldn’t help it. “You think you’re the first one to sit here an’ fuckin’ talk to me like this? Fuck you.” He muttered. “Fuck your boss too.”

 

“Brock-” Wolf sounded like he was about to protest but Beast stuck a hand through the bars between them, grabbed a fistful of matted hair and _yanked_.

 

“ _Shut_ the hell up, freak.”

 

“Hey, stop it! Why do you always push him around?” You asked indignantly, getting to your feet.

 

Beast mimicked your motion inside the enclosure, gripping the bars until his knuckles whitened. “He’s _weak_ , that’s why.” He spat. “That’s the only reason I need, asshole.”

 

“I think I preferred when you were doing your strong-silent act.” You retorted.

 

“I could have ripped you apart and _escaped_. But _this-_ ” Beast’s face reddened angrily as he searched for the word. “- _dumbshit_ just _had_ to play hero. What, were you _worried?_ ” He asked Wolf mockingly.

 

“Don’t like getting prodded.” Wolf mumbled. “The lightning hurts like _tch_ - _zark!_ ” He clicked his teeth and tongue in a weird imitation of a lightning strike. “Scares you too, dick.”

 

“ _Fuck_ you.”

 

“They don’t use the prods. I…I know you’re not _happy_ , m’ not happy either but at least they’re not hurting us.” Wolf pointed out. “I’ll hurt people if they let me go, that’s what everyone always said. So I’m being good.”

 

Beast gritted his teeth. “Don’t give a shit what you do, idiot.”

 

Wolf rolled his eyes and then fixed his attention on you. “Dumb request.” He began slowly. “Need a bath. A-Ask Heyman, maybe we can work something out? A hose, tub?”

 

You nodded. “Absolutely, I’ll do what I can.”

 

Wolf smiled briefly. “Thank you. Don’t listen to him.” Beast clocked him upside the head and Wolf grunted. “You talk to us like people. It’s nice.” He continued after shaking off the blow.

 

“Why wouldn’t I talk to you like…you _are_ people.” You pointed out.

 

“You know what I mean.” Wolf looked sad and Beast stormed off to the other end of his enclosure, clearly done with the conversation. “Most people act like we’re dumb or like we can’t understand them.”

 

“I don’t understand any of this garbage.” You tugged at your hair, a little frustrated. “We get told when we’re young that if you’re a ‘feral’, it’s _obvious_ because you’re bigger and dumber than the other kids. Like that’s an _actual_ diagnosis, you’re just a crazy, hyper-aggressive child. You’ll try to bite or lash out, your parents will _have_ to give you up because you’re a danger to society. But you guys…” You gestured at Beast. “He sounds almost totally normal. Obviously the whole _wild_ thing is a sulky charade for him.”

 

“My parents surrendered me when I was six. I tore a piece off the doorframe and then I tried to bite my dad because he came at me with a knife.” Wolf said haltingly. “S’why I don’t talk so good. Nobody outside the complex I was in cared all that much about what we were doing. What mattered was we were away from them.” His voice grew more sure as he spoke. “Sometimes the older guys, y’know, kids that had actually _been_ to school, would teach us. There was this huge kid we called Hacksaw because the story went that he’d ripped clean out of every single thing his parents had secured him in and they’d had no choice but to give him up. He was the teacher most of the time, he had a loud voice and he was bigger.” Wolf grinned. “Dumb as hell though.”

 

“Was Beast with you there?” You asked, getting an angry huff of ‘ _no_ ’ out of the pacing blond.

 

Wolf shook his head. “Met Brock for the first time in McMahon’s pony show.” He glanced over at the other man. “He’s not that bad, except for most of the time. Vince enjoyed having him bust me open when I was _misbehaving_. I acted like I would bite, started laughing. Vince didn’t like that.”

 

“It was _business_ , dumbshit.” Brock grumbled. “If I went after you, McMahon would ease up.”

 

“There used to be more at Vince’s. A smaller guy named Neville. Big ears. Then there was Moxley. He’d get the rages. And Samson, played the guitar sometimes. They all escaped one night. Dunno’ what happened to them, they just up and vanished.” Wolf seemed to be sinking back into a funk, slumping down against the bars of his prison.

 

“Hey, easy. Look, I’ll go talk with Paul and get your bath squared away, okay?” You patted his hand through the cage.

 

“M’ name is Baron. What my parents called me, anyhow.” Wolf raised his eyes to yours. “I can’t forget that. Please.”

 

“Okay. Baron.” You said softly.

 

…

 

When he was soaking wet Baron appeared decidedly less threatening. “ _It just grows so fast_.” He had mumbled through the muzzle Paul insisted he needed to wear, wincing every time he found another tangle with the old comb. You had given him a trim to the best of your abilities once he was finished washing up and he looked _miles_ better when you were done.

 

“ _You have a nose! And it’s a nice one, too!_ ” You had said in mock surprise, getting a snort out of Brock while you unbuckled the muzzle and pulled it back through the bars.

 

Baron had worked his jaw for a minute then graced you with a _real_ smile. “ _Thanks_.”

 

As you laid in your sleeping bag late that night, your thoughts kept returning to the young man in his cage. His parents had surrendered him at _six_. Your heart ached. What would it be like to go through most of your life being told over and over that _you_ were the problem?

 

You were startled out of your musings by a rustling noise and you sat up in your tent when the flap slid open. It was just Adrian, one of the acrobats. He pressed a finger to his lips and you nodded, a little confused as he crowded into your tent. “Had t’ talk with you.” His normally cool British accent sounded more clipped for some reason. “I’ve seen ya’ spending time with the ferals.”

 

“I talk with Brock and Baron, yes.” You winced. “Mostly Baron, Brock isn’t much one for conversation.”

 

“He never was.” Adrian muttered cryptically. “Listen, I don’t have a lot of time. I’m not sure how they’d react to seeing me. But if at some point you could maybe…ah, I dunno’, let it slip into a conversation that _everyone still cares_ , I’d greatly appreciate it.” Adrian touched your shoulder, his eyes searching your own. “They don’t deserve this life. You and I both know this. Can I trust you to deliver the message?”

 

“Adrian, what…”

 

“Hey, this is important. They’re _people_ , not fucking attractions. You have to promise me.” Adrian pleaded. “Get the message to Baron. Tell him that, tell him three days.”

 

“Everyone still cares, three days. Got it.” You repeated, raising an eyebrow. “What the heck does that even mean?”

 

“He’ll know.” Adrian hugged you tightly. “I have to go. Don’t want Gotch to talk.” He joked, his body language much more tense than you would care for.

 

Sleep didn’t come easily after Adrian left. You stared up at the ceiling of your tent, thinking. _Everyone still cares, three days_. _It must be some kind of code_ , you reasoned. _What does it mean, though? Why can’t Adrian tell them himself?_ You scooted down further in your sleeping bag.

 

When daylight finally began creeping through the fabric of your tent, you quietly eased the zipper open and slunk across the camp to Brock and Baron’s cage.

 

“Early for breakfast.” Brock commented idly when you were within earshot. You ignored him, moving to Baron and shaking him awake through the bars. Baron grunted and rolled over, yawning widely.

 

“Hey, listen to me.” You said, keeping your voice soft. Baron nodded sleepily. “Somebody wanted me to tell you this: _Everyone still cares, three days_.”

 

Brock’s fingers were around your throat before you realized he was moving, the large man dragging you in to knock your head against the bars of their enclosure. “Brock!” Baron cried. You gasped for breath as Baron tugged and pulled at Brock’s arm. But Brock didn’t even seem to notice. He looked _purple_ with rage.

 

“ _Who told you that?_ ” He hissed.

 

“Brock _stop it_ , you’re gonna’ get us prodded! They can’t breathe!” Baron said frantically. “You have to let them go before something bad happens again!” You made a choking noise and it seemed to whip Baron into a higher frenzy, his fingers clawing at Brock’s arm hard enough to draw blood. “ _Wolf will bite!_ ” He snapped his teeth loudly, like a warning shot.

 

Brock just scoffed at him. “Wolf, my ass!”

 

“ _Wolf bite!_ ” Baron sank his teeth into Brock’s thigh and jerked his head to the side, making Brock scream angrily and swat at him.

 

“ _Hey!_ ” Heyman’s sharp yell interrupted the scuffle. Brock quickly released you and you stumbled back from the cage, wheezing as air flooded your lungs. “What the hell is going on here?!” Baron hadn’t stopped chewing on Brock’s thigh, ignoring the blows that rained down on his head. Brock started slamming his leg against the bars, cracking the metal into the back of Baron’s busy jaw.

 

You reached back into the cage and touched Baron’s hair. “Baron.” You said shakily. “Hey, Baron. Baron shh, you can stop. It’s okay.”

 

Baron snarled into Brock’s skin but you kept petting his hair, kept whispering and he finally eased off enough for Brock to pull away. Baron’s chest heaved, blood trickling from the side of his mouth. He still _seemed_ furious, his brows drawn into a tight scowl as he panted for breath and jittered restlessly under your touch.

 

Heyman approached cautiously once it appeared you had Baron under control. “You mind _explaining_ to me what just happened?” He blustered.

 

“Heard…heard something. Woke me up.” You lied quickly. “They were fighting so I tried to…tried to stop them.”

 

“You’re _crazy_ , getting between two ferals?!” Paul was practically shrieking at this point, jabbing a finger at Baron. “Look what he did to Beast! You’re wearing a _muzzle_ for the foreseeable future, Wolf!” Baron flung himself against the wall of the cage, yelling nonsense and trying his hardest to get a hold of Heyman. His long arms fell just short though and he finally collapsed in a heap, curling up in the corner. “Now that _that’s_ over with.” Paul huffed, looking somewhat shaken.

 

“Mr. Heyman, please-” You began to protest but Paul carried on over you.

 

“No, I’m firm on this one! He’s a menace and I want him _fully_ muzzled. Liquid diet.” Heyman insisted, smoothing out the remainder of his hair. “That’s an order!”

 

Baron just huddled tighter, flinching away when Brock reached through the bars to harass him.

 

English and Gotch ended up muzzling him. You couldn’t do it.

 

You loaded the truck by yourself as a trade-off, hefting rolled tents and wheeling boxes up the ramp with a dolly. When it came time to board up the walls of the enclosure for travel Baron didn’t so much as look at you, wrapping himself in a hole-riddled blanket.

 

“Three days.” Brock muttered, bumping his forehead against the planks. “Three _fucking_ days, Baron.”

 

“Dun’ care.” Baron slurred through the muzzle. Gotch had strapped it too tightly around his jaw but he wouldn’t let you fix it. “All I do'shurt. Destherve thith.”

 

“Oh _please_ , you ain’t never had a set of balls before. Then _they_ show up and all of a sudden it’s ’ _Wolf bite!_ '” Brock taunted, slapping his shorts over the bandaged area. “You went for paydirt, you cocksucker.”

 

“Were gonna’ hur'them n’ we’d ge’ zapped.” Baron shuddered, gripping the blanket tighter and staring at his knees. “S'bad.”

 

“Brock, stop bothering him, please.” You said softly. Brock snorted but sat down in the opposite corner, tilting his head back and watching while you slid the roof boards into place.

 

“ _Three days_.”

 

The trek to the new fairground was a long one. When the group stopped for dinner, you went to remove Baron’s muzzle so he could eat. But he flinched away. “Mr. He’m’n said I gotta’ wear'it, 'member?” He grunted.

 

“ _I_ don’t want you to wear it.” You replied angrily. “You didn’t do anything wrong, it’s not like you were _trying to strangle me!_ ” You raised your voice so Brock would hear you, narrowing your eyes in his direction.

 

“Dun’ wanna’ get in trouble.” Drool trickled out of the bottom of the muzzle. “Tha’ smells good though. S'it fries? I lo’ fries. Oh…shit, ugh, stop.” He tried to wipe off his chin with the bottom of his ragged shirt. “Nooo, c'mon, s'gross.” He groaned.

 

“Yes it’s fries. A burger, too. You want it?” You waved the wrapper in front of his face and watched his pupils dilate. “Gotta’ take that off if you want to eat the probably-meat.” You sang.

 

Baron whined, tugging at the bottom of the muzzle. “Wanna’.”

 

You reached out and weaseled the buckle loose, quickly pulling the muzzle down over his chin. Baron glanced fearfully over at Brock, who rolled his eyes. “Are you even serious right now? Just _eat_ the fucking burger, idiot.” He grunted, already well on his way through his second sandwich.

 

You tore chunks off the burger and handed them to Baron. He had a habit of bolting his food if you gave it to him all at once. Brock started watching you feed the other man, his brow furrowed like he was thinking hard. You ignored him and continued to slip one fry at a time through the bars, Baron humming quietly as he ate.

 

“Why?” Brock muttered finally. You looked up at him. “Why the fuck didn’t you say something about me? I know the idiot is your favorite. You could have told your boss I went after you first. Don’t tell me you didn’t want to get me in _trouble_ or some bullshit.”

 

“I knew how that would have ended.” You replied simply. “Mr. Heyman is _incredibly_ emotional. He would have flown off the handle. Just like everyone else on this damn planet, he’s fine as long as you two are ripping each other apart. But as soon as a 'regular’ person gets involved?” You shook your head. “There was no good way to resolve that. So I lied.”

 

“But-”

 

“Look, out of _all_ the people I might owe an explanation for something, you are the absolute _last_ on that list.” You snapped, getting to your feet. “If anything, I think _you_ owe _me_ an explanation for losing your mind over some dumb thing that I was told to say. Haven’t you ever heard of 'don’t shoot the messenger’?”

 

“Sounds dumb.”

 

You threw your hands up in exasperation. “Fuck you too, buddy.” Brock just chuckled.

 

Baron, seeming a bit more at ease now that his stomach was full, waited patiently while you re-buckled his muzzle (correctly this time). He bumped the metal mesh into your forehead, his sleepy smile doing odd things to your stomach. “Thanks for keeping us from getting prodded. This isn’t too bad. Sorry I was such a baby about it this morning.”

 

You felt tears well up in your eyes. “It’s not _right_. I don’t want you to wear it, but I don’t want you to get in trouble either. I don’t know what to do, Baron.” You whispered.

 

“It’s okay.” Baron reached through the bars and awkwardly patted your shoulder. “Don’t worry about me. Three days, y'know.”

 

“What does that even _mean_ , what’s three days?”

 

“ _Nothing_.” Brock said sharply, shooting Baron a fierce look.

 

…

 

You found out what it meant three nights later, when you were woken out of a deep slumber by someone tripping over one of the guy lines on your tent. The muffled swear that followed startled you to fully alert because it was a voice you didn’t recognize. _Who…?_ Curiosity won over self-preservation and once the footsteps faded away you quickly slipped out of your tent.

 

A flash of light from over by Brock and Baron’s enclosure caught your attention. There was a quiet clatter, the sound of metal on metal. “Easy now, cool it Brock.” That was Adrian’s voice. “Don’t botch this, big guy.”

 

“Great job, getting hired as a fuckin’ acrobat.” That voice belonged to the person who had tripped over your tent. “You always were the flexible one, Nev.”

 

“We’ll have plenty of time for you to pat him on the back once I’m free.” Brock growled.

 

“I can’t leave.” Baron mumbled. You had to strain your ears to hear him even as you snuck closer.

 

“Bar we don’t…look man, I know everyone says you’re a danger. We got a guy to help with that now. I promise, we’re going to get you to some people who can make you _safe_.” You caught sight of a thinner man with a mop of light, curly hair, shimmying in place beside the cage door. Next to him was Adrian, who had a pack slung over his shoulder. Further off in the shadows you could barely make out a third figure.

 

Brock slid out through the cage door, taking a deep breath of air. “I’m not waiting around for you to sass Moxley and Mighty Mouse.” He snapped at Baron. You had to snort at the apt nickname for Adrian.

 

“ _Fine_ , go with Samson, Brock.” The man who you assumed was Moxley jerked his chin in the direction of the man on the edge of the parking lot. “We’ll catch up.” Brock didn’t wait around, bolting for the trees. “Great to see that confinement has only improved his shit attitude.” Moxley grumbled.

 

“Bar, you _can’t_ stay here. Paul will think you had something to do with it.” Adrian pointed out gently.

 

Baron hung his head. “You remember what I did, Nev. I deserve-”

 

Moxley undid his muzzle and pulled it off, chucking it to one side. “What any of us woulda’ done, stop beatin’ y'self up about it.” He scolded.

 

Baron tugged the cage door half-closed. “No, I’m staying. I can take it.”

 

“Baron?” You quietly called his name, taking a step forward.

 

Moxley whirled, his whole body alert. Adrian relaxed when he realized who you were, patting Moxley on the shoulder. “Easy. They’re a friend.”

 

“Skulkin’ son'uva, Jesus.” Moxley put a hand on his chest.

 

“Why won’t you go with them?” You asked Baron, who refused to meet your eyes. “Hey…” You pushed the cage door open a little wider so you could enter the cage. “Baron?”

 

“You don’t get it, I’m _dangerous_.” Baron mumbled. “I’ll hurt people.”

 

“Yeah?” You circled around him, scoffing. “Like when you ripped me to pieces right out of your trailer? Oh yeah, that didn’t happen. Like you did when I was cutting your hair? Oh that’s right, you didn’t. Earlier this week, when I _hand-fed_ you and you graciously let me keep my fingers?” You crossed your arms over your chest. “You’re pretty bad at hurting people.”

 

“ _You-!_ You’re different, alright?” Baron exploded. “You talked to me, talked to Brock. Even if we didn’t talk back. You weren’t scared. I wasn’t an animal to you.”

 

“If you go with your friends you don’t have to be an animal ever again.” You reasoned with him, a plan coming together in your mind when he shook his head stubbornly. “Listen, I’m at least going to give you a hug, okay? Seeing as how I’m not allowed to be in here with you and Mr. Heyman probably won’t be too keen on keeping you around when he wakes up to his Beast gone.” You hugged Baron tightly and he stood there, stock-still like he didn’t know what to do. “Run.” You whispered, and when you pulled away you shoved him backwards with all your strength. He stumbled out of the cage and you quickly shut the door behind him, hearing the lock click with a sound of finality.

 

“No!” Baron grabbed the bars and shook them in a futile effort. “What the hell are you _doing?!_ ” Baron asked incredulously, brushing Neville’s hand off when the smaller man tugged at his shoulder.

 

“It’s alright, Baron. Go on.” You mustered up a brave smile. “I’m sure I’ll see you again, okay?”

 

“I’m _not_ leaving you like this.” Baron rested his forehead on the bars. “I don’t want to.” His voice cracked.

 

“You have'ta. There isn’t another option.” Moxley whispered. It seemed the commotion hadn’t gone unnoticed, lights clicking on in the various tents and cars. “We gotta’ _go_ , Baron. I toldja’, there’s people that can help you where we’re going. If we don’t leave now, the rest of the crew will be caught and I _know_ you don’t want that shit on your conscience.”

 

You took Baron’s hands and brought them to your lips for a moment, then gently pushed him away. “Go on.” You urged. “I’ll buy you guys some time.”

 

“We won’t forget this kindness.” Adrian murmured, squeezing your hand while Baron grimaced. “C’mon Bar, we have to move.”

 

You sank into a crouch as flashlight beams began to crisscross the parking lot. Adrian melted into the shadows with Baron and Moxley in tow. You listened to their retreating footsteps, fighting back the urge to cry. You heard Heyman and Gotch hollering to each other and you squared your shoulders, exhaling in a bracing burst. Any extra seconds you could give the little group to escape would probably be beneficial.

 

Time to see if you could hold up under stress. If Paul wanted an angry feral, he’d sure as hell get one.

 

A flashlight shone in your eyes and you snapped your teeth, sticking an arm through the bars to swipe at whoever was holding it. “Whoa! Easy, what the fuck?” Simon backed up out of reach and then shone the light over your head, his face going pale as he took in the lack of residents in the cage. “Oh no. Oh _no_.” He breathed. You managed to grab his leg and he yelled in fear, flailing and falling over in his effort to escape your grasp. “Help! _Help! English they’ve gone feral!_ ”

 

You continued to snarl and paw at his leg. The longer you kept his attention, the more likely it was that someone else would help him instead of running off into the woods.

 

“Simon!” Aiden cried, ever the drama king as he valiantly pulled the other man out of reach of your deadly fingers. “What’s wrong with you?! Mr. Heyman, come quick!”

 

…

 

You hadn’t realized how much the muzzle would cut into your jaw if you moved wrong, but you were finding out pretty quickly. You hadn’t realized how small the enclosure truly was. You hadn’t realized how drastic the emotional and physical toll of being labeled an attraction was. Now you understood why Baron slept all the time, or why Brock would play up to the crowd.

 

If you didn’t scare people away they would mob and heckle until you _had_ to lash out, just to get five minutes of peace. No one wanted to see a 'feral’ that looked like it was about to burst into tears. No one wanted to feel sympathy for something like what you were pretending to be.

 

_It was worth it_ , you thought as you paced and did your best at imitating Brock’s infuriated screaming. Their safety depended on you keeping up the act. Paul hadn’t been too upset at losing the two 'ferals’ or Adrian, quickly realizing that you were a hell of a lot easier to feed and transport than Brock and Baron. Not to mention he could market you as the first 'turned feral’, like you’d been transformed into a crazed beast from too much time spent alone with the 'ferals’.

 

It took a little work, of course. You didn’t have the added 'benefits’ of rapid hair growth or other such issues to depend on so you ended up improvising with more noises and rumpled hair. You ripped the sheet covering the roof to pieces, scattering it around the cage to give the place a den-like appearance. Your collar was Baron’s old one so it was _enormous_ , jingling around your neck when you darted to the bars and swiped viciously at the people who got too close. You didn’t talk, flat-out _refused_ honestly, and Paul gave up questioning you after a few tries.

 

English usually brought your food, pushing it within reach with a stick and then fleeing quickly. Gotch was the one in charge of boarding up the enclosure when the caravan set out and he did it all while watching you nervously.

 

A weird feeling of loneliness slowly crept in as time marched on. No one attempted to talk to you after Heyman, your days were spent either in the darkness of travel or in the wild hysteria of being a freak. It took its toll on you as fall chilled the air and the leaves changed colors.

 

Sleep became your solace. In your dreams you were no longer caged; you slept in a soft, comfortable bed instead of a pile of tattered blankets. Baron would come to you, all big brown eyes and gentle noises in his throat as he held you close and kept you warm. Waking up was the worst part of your day. You always woke up tense now, wary and shivering while your breath frosted in the air.

 

It was hard not to listen to the things people said. The insults they hurled or terrible jokes they made more often than not added a little _real_ fury to your act. It was bad enough that they would say those things to _you_. You could only imagine what Baron and Brock might have heard in their time as attractions.

 

Then there was the day where a young man dumped his soda on you. It was already cold out and _now_ you were wet and sticky, on top of everything else. You grabbed him and slammed his head against the bars, screaming in his face like the beast you were supposed to be. You got grim satisfaction from seeing him cry, a grown man reduced to a sniveling mess. But all the satisfaction in the world couldn’t dry you off or make you less sticky.

 

There was no dinner for you that night because you had acted out. You curled up in your ragged bundle of thin blankets once Simon clumsily muzzled you and tried to ignore the rumbling of your stomach, feeling disgusting and lower than you’d ever been. Tears welled up in your eyes and you cried for the first time in ages, shivering and hiccupping pitifully.

 

“This ain’t exactly what I had in mind for a darin’ rescue.” Moxley’s rough voice by your head startled you and you barely kept from screaming in surprise. You bolted to the side of the cage and were greeted by the sight of Moxley and Baron.

 

Baron looked distraught, his fists clenched tight. “Who has the keys?” He asked, his tone harsh. You made a noise in your throat, reaching out desperately to touch him. Baron leaned closer, letting you cup his jaw. “What the hell did they do to you?” He whispered, his own fingers tracing the twisted-up straps of your muzzle.

 

“Get them out of that fuckin’ shit Corbin. We need the keys.” Moxley said curtly.

 

Baron slowly loosened the straps around your head, trying not to catch your hair in the process. The leather dragged against the scraped areas on the back of your jaw and you groaned in pain. Large hands ghosted over the abraded skin. “Shit, you’re raw. I’m sorry, would have been more careful.” Baron apologized.

 

“Heyman.” You rasped, your voice dry from disuse. “Heyman has keys.”

 

“Well fuck him.” Moxley shrugged, picking something off the bottom of his boot. “What do you think, Baron?”

 

“He’s _mine_.” Baron snarled, pushing away from the cage.

 

Moxley winked at you once Baron had stormed off. “He’s been an absolute wreck since we got word of a ‘turned feral’. Guy was chompin’ at the bit, we all figured it was you but he was losing his damn mind. Should have brought Nev for the door, he didn’t wanna’ wait. Now we gotta’ do this the old-fashioned way.”

 

You were totally overwhelmed by what was going on, sinking into a kneeling position.

 

Moxley made a noise of sympathy, petting your sticky hair. “It’s alright. You’re gonna’ be safe now.” He assured you. “We won’t leave you here. _He_ won’t leave you here.” You whimpered and rested your forehead against the bars, barely able to comprehend it. _He came back_. Moxley seemed to understand your reaction, continuing to just pat your head. “I can’t believe that you’ve been in this cage the whole time. You’ve lived regular, you ain’t like us where you grew up in that shit. How did you even handle it?”

 

“If I couldn’t talk, they couldn’t ask me questions.” You mumbled. Keys jangled loudly and you turned around, confused at first when you saw Heyman at the cage door. You squinted and realized Baron had a firm grip on his arm, standing behind him in the shadows.

 

“ _Open it_ , fucker.” Baron snarled. Paul looked a little worse for the wear, his striped pajamas mussed and missing a few buttons. You got the feeling Baron hadn’t woken him up gently. “You have three seconds.”

 

“This is _illegal_ , I’ll have you know.” Paul blustered. “Intimidating a-”

 

“No, what’s illegal is what I’ll fucking do to you if you don’t _open the fucking cage_.” Baron interrupted him, his grip tightening. “They’re _not_ a feral, you’ve been keeping them locked up like a damn animal. I fail to see how the fucking law is going to be on your side here. Now open. The. _Door_.”

 

“Y-You’re not…” Paul trailed off when you shook your head.

 

“So if you let them go, we’ll just take them and be on our way. No muss, no fuss.” Moxley made his presence known, ambling to stand by Heyman. “Or…we can do this the hard way.” He had a wicked smile on his face. “Your choice.”

 

“N-No, I don’t want any trouble. I’ll j-just–” Paul dropped the keys twice in his haste to obey, finally unlocking the cage. “If I had known-”

 

“-You would have gotten everything you could out of them and then thrown them to the goddamn wolves. Get back into bed.” Baron shoved Heyman in the direction of his trailer. “You never saw us. Breathe a word and we’ll find you.” He threatened.

 

The night suddenly seemed brighter, the fall air crisp and clean in your lungs. “Can you walk? We have to move.” Moxley said hurriedly. You nodded jerkily, scrubbing your hands over your face to wake yourself up a bit. “Samson is in the next town over, we have shortcuts. Let’s go.”

 

Fingers twined through your own and you looked down at Baron’s hand, confused. “So we don’t lose you in the woods.” The large man explained, tugging you along behind him.

 

“Oh.” You hadn’t realized you were crying with relief until your breath hitched in your chest.

 

Baron grunted when he felt you shiver, quickly stripping off his hoodie and bundling you into it. “Better?” He asked worriedly, tying the hood strings so they held snugly beneath your chin. You nodded, letting him wipe your eyes with one of the sleeves. Baron’s smile still made that odd feeling flare up in your stomach. “Cool.”

 

“You talk more.” You pointed out as the three of you slipped through the foliage.

 

“Elias makes me sing with him so I can sound _normal_.” Baron grumbled while Moxley snickered. “Stupid Samson, forcing me to sing ‘Country Roads’.”

 

“I bet you sound good.”

 

“Better than _him_ , anyhow.” Baron pointed to Moxley, who immediately stopped snickering. “Roadkill sings better than him.”

 

“Damn Corb, why you gotta’ smack-talk the roadkill?”

 

“Good thing we weren’t going for stealth, _idiots_.” Said a new voice through the trees.

 

“Elias! Shit, I must be sprinting, I thought we were still a ways off from the road.” Moxley apologized, pulling bushes to one side so Baron could haul you up an embankment to the road.

 

“How many times you done this?” The bearded man scolded, pulling open the sliding door of a van parked on the side of the road. “We’re lucky, man. Get in before something dumb happens.”

 

Baron easily lifted you into the vehicle, climbing in behind you. “Sit down.” He muttered, grunting when you wrapped your arms around him instead. “Oh. What?” He asked curiously, patting your back carefully. “Shh, there there. That’s the thing, right?”

 

“Yeah, you’re a natural buddy.” Elias laughed from the driver’s seat. “Christ.”

 

“I thought-”

 

“Don’t listen to him, man. You’re doing fine. Rub little circles. They’re…it’s–uh, _anxiety_. Yeah. They need contact right now.” Moxley bluffed, winking at you before strapping on his seat belt.

 

You flushed as Baron instantly pressed his whole body to your own, arms tightly enfolding you in an embrace. “I’ll help you.” He sounded so determined. “We’re gonna’ get you a _shower_. A real nice one, with hot water and soap. You’re all sticky, what happened?”

 

“Baron has volunteered to be your sponsor to help you readjust to normal life. We tried to explain that you weren’t like us but he was…very determined.” Elias said wryly. “So he’ll be sharing his bunk space with you.”

 

“Gonna’ take care of you like Mox and Nev took care of me.” Baron reassured you.

 

“Yeah, you’re uh…you’re in good hands.” Moxley seemed to be fighting off laughter. You had the feeling that you were in for a odd time of it, but you were so relieved to be free you couldn’t help giggling hysterically into Baron’s chest.

 

_He came back_.

 

…

 

Baron was disappointed when you didn’t let him shower with you, he had apparently become very fond of hot showers after years of nothing but sponge baths or dealing with communal bathing areas.

 

“Neville had to help me wash my hair, I don’t want you to miss anything.” He said worriedly, his shirt already pulled over his head.

 

You quickly assured him you would be fine. “I’ll let you look me over once I’m clean, deal?” He nodded seriously and proceeded to sit on the floor, inches from the raggedy shower curtain. You coughed. “Um, Baron, I kinda’ need to…”

 

“Oh!” He shut his eyes, covering them for good measure. “You’re safe. I won’t peek.”

 

“You’d _better_ not.” You hurriedly peeled your dirty clothes off and got into the shower. As much as you’d like the company while you washed up, you weren’t sure how he viewed you. Were you just someone who had been kind to him? Or were you something more? Either way, it would hardly be fair for you to dump an emotional bombshell on him in the _shower_.

 

Your mind wandered, wondering what his hands would feel like on your skin as you scrubbed off the dried soda coating your arms and hair. There was no harm in _thinking_ about it, was there?

 

Baron gave you your towel once you were done, waiting until you stepped out of the shower to get to his feet. He began carefully checking you over, clicking his tongue sympathetically at the raw-rubbed areas on your neck and behind your jaw. Baron then traced his fingers around your hairline. “Ticks.” He said by way of explanation when you gave him a confused look. “Because you’ve been sleeping outside.” Your whole body shuddered involuntarily. “Nev says to check the hairline, they hide behind the ears, armpits.” Baron paused for a minute. “Groin. Any um…any crevices, really.” He mumbled, taking a step back and clearing his throat. “So I’ll just…go. And get your…um…clothes, yeah, and you can give yourself a once-over. Moxley says I need to give you your privacy.”

 

You ripped the towel off once he’d left, panicking. You hadn’t _noticed_ anything while you were showering, but you’d also been _distracted_. You ran your hands over your thighs, relieved when you felt no lurking intruders. You went up your stomach, checking your sides. You cupped your breasts and were about to move on, then…

 

In retrospect you realized that maybe _screaming_ wasn’t the best course of action as it summoned Baron with alarming speed. “ _What?!_ ” He took in the sight of you standing there naked, and carefully put down the bundle of clothes he’d been carrying. “You found one?” His voice was weirdly calm.

 

You just nodded, your lower lip starting to quiver.

 

“Hey, it’s okay.” He soothed. “Where is it?” You gestured at the side of your right breast, where the fiendish bloodsucker had taken up residence. Baron muttered something that sounded like _of course_ , rolling his eyes up to the ceiling momentarily. “Alright, can I touch you? I’ve got one of those tick pullers on my keys.” He pulled your towel up and draped it over your shoulder, like he was attempting to preserve your modesty. “You don’t need to cry, s’okay. I’ll take it off and Regal can fix you up with meds if you get sick. Brock had a _bunch_ of ticks on his butt, he got really sick but he’s fine now.”

 

You laughed through your tears at the mental image of Brock enduring someone pulling ticks off of his rear. You were incredibly embarrassed at your body’s response to Baron touching your chest, his motions all business as he carefully cupped your breast and held the skin tight so he could use the small tool. It still somehow stirred a reaction in your belly, even with you quietly freaking out about Lyme disease or a thousand other issues you could get from the little bastard embedded in your skin.

 

“Got it. Okay. You should wash that with soap and then get dressed. I’ll put this little fuck in a baggy, we’ll head to Regal.” Baron’s voice was still strangely calm, the low sound grounding you.

 

“Thank you. M’sorry.” You managed to hiccup. “So gross.”

 

Baron burst out laughing, surprising the hell out of you. “You had _one_ tick-” He sputtered finally. “If you’ve got a strong stomach, you oughta’ ask Regal how many times they had to delouse me. He wanted to shave my head it was so bad.” Baron continued to snicker, making your indignant knee-jerk reaction peter out.

 

“Oh _excuse_ me for not being graced by the scabies fairy.” You retorted while quickly pulling on your clothes.

 

“I’d cry if you’d had those.” Baron said bluntly. “Doc Regal gave us his monthly presentation for newbies on all the shit he’s seen and I about lost my lunch.”

 

…

 

“He’s quite smitten with you, you know.” William Regal said offhandedly as he counted medications and jotted something down on his notepad.

 

“Excuse me?” You asked, flustered.

 

The doctor (“ _How many times do I have to tell you Baron, I’m a_ _ **pharmacist**_.”) looked up at you, one eyebrow raised. “Come now, you can’t be serious.” His tone was chiding. “You haven’t noticed?”

 

“W-Well-” You twiddled your fingers and Regal rolled his eyes.

 

“He was only here for a few days before he came to me about the odd dreams he had. You were a rather _large_ part of them. He was having difficulty establishing a foothold in reality when it came to your place in his dreams.” Regal folded his hands, his face Bond-villain severe. “Baron grew very attached to you during his brief period with Heyman’s Delights. He says you were the only person who would even interact with he and Brock. He mentioned an incident when Brock lashed out at you and he bit Brock ‘ _with everything he had_ ’ because you were in danger.”

 

“I just stroked his hair and tried to talk quiet to him. I didn’t want him to get hurt.” You recalled.

 

“It apparently made a lasting impression. His dreams, as with most so-called ‘ferals’ when they gain freedom, were of a sexual nature. But he mentioned the petting happened almost every time, like you were soothing him back to sleep. He found it calming but he had a difficult time waking from something like that.” William shrugged.

 

You wished you could vanish into the floor, your body hot and cold all at once. Baron chose that moment to make his appearance, knocking on the door before pushing it open. “Hey.” He greeted you warmly. “All set with the doc? I have your bunk made up.”

 

Regal exhaled a long-suffering sigh. “ _Baron_ -”

 

“Sorry, sorry! You all set with the _pharmacist?_ ” Baron rephrased his question. “I didn’t even know that was a word until last month, you’d think he would cut me some slack.” He stage-whispered to you as he ushered you out of the makeshift office. “So you’re gonna’ be in the bunk next to me in the orange trailer. Orange trailer is the one that’s mine. Neville said I could have it if I fixed the roof, and that wasn’t even a big deal.” Baron continued proudly, “Moxley says I’m great at fixing things, he comes to me with trailers all the time and I get them squared away.”

 

“You do upholstery too?” You teased.

 

“No, Mr. Styles is the sheriff around here. He upholds the law and a whole bunch of other things. I just fix stuff.” Baron didn’t seem to understand why you were laughing so hard, grinning uncertainly. “I um. I have a couple of documentaries we can watch, if you feel up to it. Not much in the way of entertainment around here but I guess that’s why we move so much.”

 

“Documentaries?”

 

“Yeah! Elias found me some old wolf ones. He says most of the information is inacc…in…uh, not right anymore, but I just like watching the wolves.”

 

The VCR made a terrifying noise when Baron fed it the tape later on, squealing and sputtering for a moment before the grainy footage began. You sat up and watched with Baron for a little while, his rapt expression one of the most adorable things you’d ever witnessed.

 

You reached out and began to stroke his hair. He didn’t even seem to notice at first, his attention entirely on the documentary. Little noises bubbled from his throat every time one of the wolves howled. You slipped behind him and tugged him back against you, Baron moving absently as he remained glued to the television. You dug your fingers into his scalp and _that_ he noticed, if the whimper of “ _ah!_ ” was any indicator. You continued your ministrations and his head lolled back on your shoulder “What are you doin’?” He asked thickly. “I love petting. Gonna’ make me get hard.”

 

“Oh?” You dragged your fingers down through his hair, relishing the deep groan that came from his chest. “What would I have to do if I get you hard?”

 

Baron stared up at you, his brow furrowed. “Well, you wouldn’t _have_ to do anythin’.” He said finally. “If…I mean, if we’re talking about what I’d _want_ you to do, I’d…um, I’d like it if you’d…if you’d pet me. Below the belt.” His voice had dropped to an embarrassed mumble. “On my cock.”

 

You slid a hand down his torso and started playing with the zipper on his jeans.

 

Baron swallowed, covering your hand with his own after a second and rolling his cock up against your palm. “Do you feel me through that?” He asked, moaning softly when you nodded. “M’ hard, _you_ did that because you like me, right? Like how I like you. So you did what you know I like?” You nuzzled your face into his neck and pressed yourself tightly to his back, nodding shyly. Your fingers pulled down his zipper and Baron _whined_ , muscles in his thighs flexing nervously. “ _Yes_.” He gasped when you wrapped your hand around his cock. “ _Oh!_ Fuck–”

 

“Regal said you had dreams about me.” You whispered, loving the cute flush that quickly reddened his neck. “ _Good_ dreams.”

 

“Y-Yeah.” Baron admitted, cradling your face against his own while his cock twitched in your hand. “Just look at me. Want you, want to touch you all over. Make you happy.” He took a deep breath, seeming like he was gathering up his courage. “Sit on me and I can touch you if you want?” He said in a rush. “Please?” The begging note in his voice was what did it for you. You licked his ear playfully and he shivered, growling when you continued to mouth over the sensitive skin. “ _Ah_ , fuck, please-”

 

You slid out from behind him and he quickly grabbed you around the waist, easily settling you into his lap. His cock rubbed against the damp spot on your pajama pants and you blushed when Baron pressed two fingers to the area, teasing your clit.

 

“Like that?” He asked softly, “You feel good here, right?” His other hand slipped into your pajama bottoms to cup your ass, urging you to roll against his cock. “Here, right here. With me.” You dug your fingers into his hair again and _pulled_ , making him snarl loudly. “ _Ah_ , can’t do that, not fair. I’ll fuck you sideways.” Baron warned, chuckling when you repeated the motion. “I’ll do it. Better watch it.”

 

“Yeah yeah, big talk.” You stuck your tongue out at him and were surprised when he leaned in and captured it. Baron kissed with his teeth more than his lips, nipping at your tongue and licking hungrily into your mouth like he was devouring you. You grabbed at the neck of his shirt as he prodded his cock against you over and over, dry-humping you roughly. “B-Baron please–”

 

“Inside? Didn’t know if you…” Baron paused as you stood up to drop your pajama bottoms and kick them over the side of his bunk. “I…Oh.”

 

“Please?” Now it was your turn to beg, sinking back into his lap and rubbing your soaking wet pussy over his cock.

 

Baron’s eyes narrowing was the only warning you got before he lifted you bodily and pressed your back to the wall. “ _Yes_.” His teeth snapped loudly at the end of the word, hard cock prodding up against you. “You’re wet for me, you’re wet for _me_ and you’re going to have me, you already do but now you can have _all_ of me.” He said firmly, his forehead touching yours as he slowly entered you. “Told you I’d fuck you sideways.”

 

“I dunno’ if this–counts as–sideways.” You managed to gasp.

 

Baron spread your legs a little wider, his pace erratic as he fucked you. He kept making sounds that went straight to your groin, helpless whimpers and growls pouring out of him when you pulled his hair and scratched down his back. “ _More_.” It was a demand, it was a plea, gritted between his teeth as he thrust furiously into you. “Touch me, touch me, touch me God _dammit_ -” He swore, words finally seeming to fail him as you swept his hair to the side and started nipping his shoulder.

 

The noises he carried on with wreaked havoc on your arousal, low-frequency rumbling in his chest seeming to roll through your whole body. You tensed up and Baron choked out a breath, obviously relishing the new sensation as he picked up his pace. “Coming-” You sobbed, gripping his shoulders tightly.

 

Baron’s words came flooding back. “ _Yes_ do it do it want it-” He rambled, breaking his rhythm to sheathe his cock fully then move you back to his bunk. “No more sideways fucking, want you to come, want you to come.” He urged, smoothing the hair back from your face and pinning your hips down with his own. “Come for me come for me come for me-” You arched up beneath him as you came apart and Baron’s forehead pressed to the hollow of your throat, your skin muffling his cry of “ _good!_ ” when he came a second later. “Good.” He sighed again, his breath washing over your throat. “Good.”

 

You nodded tiredly in agreement, starting to comb through his hair with your fingers.

 

“ _Ugh_ , so good.” Baron groaned, nuzzling the thrumming pulse point beneath your ear. “Yes, _yes_.”

 

“Shh, I know.” You kissed his forehead, loving the way he stretched and preened over you before settling onto his side.

 

“Come here.” Baron demanded, pulling you back into his arms. You laid your cheek on the tattooed heart, feeling the lightning trip of his heartbeat slowly start to even back out. After a second Baron started stroking over your hair hesitantly, like he wasn’t sure if you liked it or not. “You make me feel so good.” He said softly. “Not just this stuff. Always.”

 

“Yeah?” You tilted your head up to look at him and he nodded solemnly. “I’m glad, then.”

 

“I hope you’ll stay. Y'know, with us. Me.” He mumbled when you were almost asleep, his thumb sliding over the raw patch behind your jaw. “Me an’ Nev an’ Mox an’ 'Lias, we got a lot of work t’ do…”


	2. Lion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains rape/attempted rape/vivid allusions to attempted forced sexual activity via pornography, as well as human muzzling of a non-BDSM variety. This gets heavy, so please read safe everyone!]

 

 

_He had a real name once. He knew he must have at some point. But through the years he’d forgotten it. He was simply Lion now._

 

…

 

Elias fidgeted beside the counter, tapping his fingers. With his guitar slung over his shoulder via the strap and his sunglasses firmly in place, he surreptitiously scanned the coffee shop yet again. Probably his fifth time since he walked in.

 

His gaze kept getting drawn to an older man, maybe early forties. The man sat all alone by the window, his own coffee appearing forgotten beside his laptop. The guy constantly looked up and around, like he was doing something he shouldn’t. It immediately set off warning bells in Elias’ head.

 

“Pardon me, ma’am.” He said softly when the barista slid his coffee to him. “That guy over there has the look of a man trying to be sneaky. He in here often?”

 

“Wow, good eye.” The barista snorted. “Yeah, he’s a regular. We're pretty sure he comes in just to watch porn with our wifi. But since he’s not like, actively jerking off or bugging anyone there’s not much we can do about it. He buys a coffee, you know how it is.”

 

“Much obliged, ma’am.” Elias gave her a quick flash of his smile, taking a sip of his drink as he meandered away from the counter. There was a bulletin board on the wall behind that suspicious man and Elias knew that was always his best bet for finding more traveling shows, circuses and exhibitions. A lot of the mobile carnivals didn’t have websites or calendars to track, so his fieldwork was still important.

 

The man glanced up at him as he sauntered by, making a scoffing sound when he took in the mass of scarves around Samson’s neck. Elias paid him no mind, perusing the flyers on the wall silently. A few older ones for Heyman’s Delights, when he was still advertising the ‘turned feral’. Elias shuddered. Two for McMahon’s Dog And Pony Show, ‘ _fun for the whole family!_ ’. Since Vince had sold the remainder of his ferals off to Heyman, the group had focused their efforts elsewhere. One of the bars in town was having a talent night.

 

Samson turned around to head for the door and froze as he caught sight of the suspicious man’s laptop screen. ‘ _RESTRAINED FERAL LION PLOWS TINY SLUT!_ ’ screamed the title of the video. Elias forced himself to ignore the video, forced himself to instead commit the site’s name to memory and as he walked by on his way out he slammed the man’s laptop shut. The man looked up to protest and Elias narrowed his eyes, giving the man his nastiest glare and curling his lip in a snarl. _Don’t even think about it_.

 

The air from outside was cooler than he anticipated, shocking a little of the blind fury out of his system. Elias pulled his flip phone free of his pocket and started typing.

 

- _Nev I’ve got something_.

 

He sat down on a bench and drank some more of his coffee while he waited for their fearless leader to reply. His fingers tapped the fretboard of his guitar, twanging a string here and there. “ _Well, gold digger took my money, dipped my heart an’ hands in honey_.” Samson began singing quietly, “ _Snake lady stole my savin’s, don’t go thinkin’ she was havin’ my babies._ ” He carried on, singing the tune of a disillusioned young man facing the electric chair in July. Nobody ever wanted to hear happy songs, anyhow. It was always Johnny Cash for these people. “ _You’re young, an’ qualified, got a date with that chair out in late July_.”

 

A man walking with his dog smiled at Elias and Samson smiled back, tipping his head. He had to remember sometimes that most of the ‘regular’ folks weren’t scumbags. There were just an exemplary few in the herd that _outdid_ the rest. His brow furrowed as he thought back on that guy in the coffee shop, rhythm faltering. He checked his phone quickly.

 

- _Send location for pickup Samson_.

 

- _Not that simple this time Nev. Will explain when present. Get Mox. See you soon._

 

Samson got to his feet, dusting himself off and continuing down the sidewalk.

 

…

 

Moxley’s eyebrows ended up in his hairline when the name of the website left Elias’ mouth. “Listen man, I know everyone’s got their kinks but-” His protest was cut short by Samson’s _blistering_ glare. “Oh, this ain’t a social visit.”

 

“ _No_ Mox, it’s not.” Elias grumbled while Neville typed.

 

“They literally just call him Lion.” Neville tugged his glasses down his nose. “What the hell kind of…this is some fucked-up shite.” He pointed to the screen, highlighting a paragraph after a moment. “' _Sedated Submissive, Lion knows only to please!_ ’ I’m going t' toss in my mouth.” Neville did look green.

 

Mox’s own stomach went queasy at the wording. “ _Sedated?_ ” He asked weakly.

 

“He’s not a willing participant. That’s fuckin’ revoltin’.” Adrian said bluntly. “They get him out of his mind, muzzle him and restrain him. Can you even fucking imagine how terrifying that is?”

 

There were a few publicity photos for Lion’s profile, all without a stitch of clothing on the tattooed young man. _Just another feral, what does he need to be treated like a human for?_ Moxley snapped his teeth angrily. Lion had that glazed stare over his stifler of something trapped for too long. “What’s the plan, Nev? I know ya’ got somethin’ brewin’.”

 

“Bits an’ pieces.” Adrian pushed his glasses back up. “I’ll circle the wagons when I’ve got more information.”

 

“Let me sponsor this one, yeah?” Mox asked quietly once Elias had departed back to his own trailer. “He’s gonna’ need some delicacy and I’ve dealt with the druggin’ before.” He still had nightmares sometimes, recalling the cloying pull of the substance Vince plied him with to keep his rages under control.

 

“If you think you’re up for it, Mox.” Neville shrugged. “This whole _op_ is going to need some delicacy. Grab your spiral-bound.” Adrian had a tendency to over-prepare when it came to their data collection, but Mox knew it was either have as much as they could or go in defenseless. So he obediently collected his notebook and flipped it open to an empty page, beginning his usual work of writing down everything that came out of Neville’s mouth.

 

Regardless of whether it made sense or not. Adrian had a habit of lapsing into his accent a little harder than normal as he rambled (he called it ‘going Geordie’, whatever _that_ meant), so occasionally Mox had to have him repeat things. But when Neville rattled on he claimed his brain worked twice as fast as his mouth, and Moxley had to admit that his smarts hadn’t failed them yet.

 

“ _The producer_. A shadowy fuckin' title fer a shadowy prick that apparently makes fucked-up porn.” 

 

Moxley grunted as he wrote that down.

 

It was well after two in the morning when Adrian pushed himself off the seat by the table and stretched with a loud yawn. “We’ve got him, Mox my lad. He’s as good as ours.” He grinned tiredly. “We’ll talk to Regal in the daylight, get an idea of what we’re dealing with. Maybe he’ll have another miracle cure, eh?”

 

Mox snorted, getting to his feet. “Yeah, maybe. I dunno’, man. He keeps telling me he’s close to figuring out why he can nuke Elias’ rages but not mine and it’s like, shit old man, _prioritize_.” Moxley scolded. “He’s gonna’ get behind on the antibiotic doses for the newbies and then we’ll be fucked, stuck with some kid that’s got super lice.”

 

Adrian chuckled, rubbing his nose against Moxley’s cheek. “Don’t worry about the old monarch. He knows what he’s on about.”

 

Mox pulled him in the rest of the way for a headbutt, grinning back. “Fucker, you’re in on his shit.”

 

“Oh, but that’s no secret.” Neville teased. “He's a stubborn old bastard, but he's _our_ stubborn old bastard.”

 

…

 

_The cement felt nice against his aching head. Cool. Solid. Real, much more real than the way everything shimmered like heat waves in front of his eyes. He groaned, half-wishing that there was something else in his stomach to come back up. Maybe if he got sick on himself again they would leave him be for a little while longer._

 

_His thighs were sore and his wrists hurt, chafe marks still raised and raw on his skin. His throat was so dry from the muzzle that smothered his face in its grip. So it hadn’t been that long that he was unconscious for. He couldn’t decide whether it was good or bad that the dark patches were getting longer but_ _**thinner** _ _. He kept waking up, waking up with women on top of him, the scent of the cosmetic products they used to conceal his chafing thick like oil in his nose and mouth. Sometimes he wanted to cry, when he came to and couldn’t go back under to hide from the things they did to him._

 

_Sometimes he wanted to rip everyone in the room apart, his chest heaving with fury and hands clenched into fists in his binds while he stared at the ceiling and just waited for it to be over. But those angry days were becoming fewer and fewer. His body wasn’t his own, his brain riddled with fever and drugs persuading him to just lie still, to move his hips and whimper when appropriate._

 

_He was Lion, ‘Sedated Submissive’, those words he didn’t understand that dug into his skin like more needles and choked in his throat like more dry pills. This was who he was. He could grit his teeth, scream and strain while he had his mind, but it wouldn’t do him any good._

 

_The cement felt like it was leeching all the heat out of his skin. He shuddered, getting up off the floor on shaky legs and moving to his cot. His restraints dragged heavily at his arms. Maybe…maybe more sleep would help._

 

…

 

Mox crept through the doorway after Neville. “Three seconds,” Neville muttered, staring at his watch. They both waited until the camera reset and then bolted down the hallway. Three seconds didn’t seem like much, but if Neville had done his math right (and of course, Mox had full faith in the notion that he had), it was more than enough to get them around the corner.

 

“ _This is a little different from our usual snatch an’ grab, Mox. We are officially cat burglars. So suit up._ ”

 

Moxley felt a little silly in his black jeans and turtleneck, but he knew he had to look the part. Plus, according to Neville the camera was old tech, a black and white CCTV kind of thing, so in all black he had a better shot of blending into the gray.

 

He eased open the first door on his right when they entered a hallway, an empty bedroom meeting his eyes.

 

“We’ll do a full sweep.” Neville said softly, “The only info we had mentioned a room off a hallway, yeah? You take the right.”

 

Mox nodded, closing the door and carrying on. Two more bedrooms passed with no incident, though Mox found it weird that they were made to look like they were in totally different houses.

 

The next door revealed a bedroom that was _drastically_ different from the rest. Red carpet, no windows. Black straps attached to the headboard caught his attention and Mox took a cautious step in, clicking on his small flashlight to get a better look.

 

The bedspread and sheets were solid black, the fabric coarse and cheap under his touch. A simple video camera was set up on a tripod at the foot of the bed, another one resting on the flimsy bedside table. Mox felt the nausea build in his throat for a minute before he got a grip on himself.

 

The closet door by the bed was half open and he carefully crept to it, gesturing for Neville to follow him from the hallway. Adrian’s quiet gasp of breath alerted Mox to the fact that he’d noticed what the room was for.

 

There were _stairs_ in the closet. Wooden stairs that led down, to what appeared to be a basement.

 

“Bingo.” Neville turned on his own flashlight. “This place seems… _huge_ for one feral.” He pointed out as Mox descended the steps in front of him. “I wonder if their _Lion_ is just a test run? Imagine how _useful_ assholes like us could be in this industry if we were docile.”

 

“Priorities, old man.” Moxley reminded Adrian. His eyes widened as his flashlight swept over a collection of cells built all in a row like a prison. “Oh. Well then.”

 

“Sometimes ah’ hate bein’ so fuckin’ smart.” Neville grimaced, his accent thickening. “We need to get that lad out an’ nip this shite in the bud, yeah? I’ll stay by the stairs. Could be our only exit.”

 

Moxley nodded, creeping forward. All the room had for illumination was one red light, blinking sluggishly at the far end of the cells. His night vision might be good enough to draw from that, but his flashlight made him feel a little safer. Every cell that he passed seemed to be open and empty. He wondered if someone had tipped off the producer, scouring the cells for some motion, some flicker of life.

 

Then he found the locked cell. Mox’s heart jumped into his mouth but no, no, Neville had picked much harder locks than this one. There was a blanket-covered mass on the cot across the cell and Moxley took a chance. “You awake in there?” He asked quietly, eyes falling on the loop of chain that wound around one of the bars and led beneath the blanket.

 

The lump under the blanket stirred, raising their head to look at him. Lion’s eyes were a light shade of gray, but they looked eerily white now in the beam of his flashlight.

 

Mox made a soothing noise in his throat, lowering the flashlight so the other man wouldn’t stare directly at it. Lion responded listlessly with a quiet sound of his own, more of an echo, muffled by the thick piece of leather over his mouth. His gaze held absolutely no interest or curiosity, he just stared because there was something different in front of him. “Nev he’s here.” Mox called, beckoning his partner over. “Get this open, man. He’s all fucked up.”

 

Neville got to work on the lock, twisting his pick set this way and that with extreme care. Mox wanted to talk to Lion, make sure he was aware that they were there to help, but he knew Neville needed to hear the tumblers so he stayed silent. When the lock clicked open Adrian got to his feet and eased the door to the side. “Lion?” He asked softly. The man under the blanket made a noise of distress, peering out at Neville.

 

“He’s got one of those stiflers on, Nev. Dunno’ if he’ll bite.” Mox observed. Those pale gray eyes flicked to his face when he spoke. Lion shook his head, metal cuffs around his wrists displayed when he reached up to claw weakly at the muzzle covering his mouth and nose. Moxley took in the raw skin around his wrists, the leather burn marks on his neck and jaw. “Christ.”

 

“Watch his pupils, he’s fucked up hard on somethin’.” Neville gestured and Lion flinched back after a second, his reaction delayed. “Let’s get him out of his cuffs. Do you understand us, Lion?”

 

The young man groaned in reply, finally nodding. Mox breathed a sigh of relief. That made things a hell of a lot simpler. Lion held his hands out but he didn’t seem particularly happy or excited. It was just a motion, his eyes fixed on the floor.

 

“Mox, take off that muzzle while I work.” Neville directed, kneeling beside the cot and flipping through a small ring of cuff keys he had on standby.

 

Moxley moved forward, starting to wrestle with the stiff buckles securing the stifler. He felt Lion’s face press against his shirt and he heard a quiet inhale of breath whistle through the muzzle. “Hey there, you gettin’ all the good smells?” Mox asked gently. “One more second and I’ll have you out. It’s okay.” The leather under his fingers finally loosened, then pulled free. Moxley eased the muzzle off, letting it hang slack around Lion’s neck. “ _There_ , I bet that’s a little better.” He continued, watching worriedly as Lion just carried on staring at the floor. “Lion?”

 

That head of unruly black hair jerked back up, eyes wide in the dim light. Lion seemed to be having a difficult time focusing, looking like he was working overtime just trying to hold his head up.

 

“We’re getting you out of here, okay? We won’t leave you down here.” Moxley said slowly, hoping Lion could understand him. The whole cell reeked of cleaning chemical smells, Mox knew he was in for a splitting headache if they didn’t leave soon.

 

“Got it, here we go.” Neville said triumphantly, unsnapping the cuffs. “Alright lad, we’re gonna’ wrap this blanket around ya’ waist. I can’t believe I didn’t think to bring _clothes_.” He tied the knot on the blanket over Lion’s hip. “Now, neither Mox or I are strong enough to carry ya’ like a princess, but I figure between the two of us we’ll get some locomotion yet. On your feet.” He urged and Lion obeyed, almost collapsing a second later. Mox managed to compensate for the sway, draping Lion’s heavily-tattooed arm over his shoulder and hesitantly laying his hand on the other man’s ribs.

 

Lion’s skin was clammy, fever-sweat dampening the area under Mox’s touch. His head dropped onto Mox’s shoulder and he slumped, making himself dead weight. “Easy, easy.” Mox soothed, wondering if Lion knew that he wasn’t being dragged out for another… _performance_. “One foot in front of the other, okay Nev? Just nice and careful.”

 

“His body temp is all damn wrong.” Neville grunted as they left the cell and headed for the stairs. “Poor fucker.”

 

…

 

_They weren’t usually this careful. And they_ _**never** _ _unlocked his restraints without putting his leather cuffs on first. The headache refused to abate. He was pretty sure that regardless of his empty stomach he was about to puke. They had asked if he understood, of course he understood. More work to be done._

 

_The stairway opened up in front of him and that was when he realized where they were bringing him. He struggled. He usually didn’t, they usually dosed him and let everything settle into dark before pulling him up the stairs. But they hadn’t this time. They didn’t even kill his breath. The tall man with the bright eyes had taken the muzzle off._

 

_He found his voice at the top of the stairs, the dark doorway into the fake bedroom yawning like the jaws of a hungry beast._

 

…

 

“ _No!_ ” Lion suddenly exploded. Mox felt kind if dumb for not anticipating that, he’d gotten increasingly squirmy the closer they got to the top of the stairs.

 

“Whoa, whoa, easy.” Mox said firmly, maintaining his grip on the weakly-struggling man. “Easy, shh. Not today. Not ever again, got it?” Lion pushed his face into Mox’s neck, whimpering. Mox felt tears start to soak through his turtleneck. “Not ever again.” He repeated, digging his fingers into that thick mane of hair to keep Lion’s face where it was. “Shh, it’s alright. Nev, I’m maintaining his position. Go open the door.”

 

Adrian fairly bolted across the room, pausing to yank the memory cards out of both camcorders on his way by. “Confiscatin’ evidence. Dunno’ if they’re in standby mode.” He said to Mox’s unasked question. “Alright, you got him then? That last hallway is gonna’ be the hard part.”

 

“I need you to move your feet. Don’t look at the bed. Just keep your face tucked into my neck.” Mox continued to enunciate all his words as clearly as possible. Lion finally, _finally_ shuffled forward, hiccupping loudly. “That’s right. We’re just going to the door. Gonna’ get you out of here.” Moxley tried to encourage him and it appeared to be working. Lion just didn’t seem to have much left in his proverbial tank, continuing to sag against Mox and allowing him to move him as he saw fit.

 

When they hit the edge of the rug was when Lion stopped. The rug in the hallway was a beige color, a stark contrast to the ugly red one in the room. Lion hesitated before taking a step out, his whole body tense enough to snap. Mox released his hold on the young man’s hair, letting him look up. Lion squinted in the light, his eyes obviously having a difficult time adjusting. “Who…” He began, his voice surprisingly deep when he wasn’t in a panic.

 

“We can explain later. You’re not out the woods yet.” Neville whispered. “I dunno’ if anyone heard ya’ little outburst at the top of the stairs.”

 

Lion winced. “Sorry.”

 

“Don’t apologize. C’mon.” Mox had rapidly eased into his sponsor role, taking Lion’s hand. The young man clung to his arm like he was drowning, half-hiding his face. “It’s alright. We’ll just keep walking. Be outta’ here in no time.”

 

“Sorry. M’ stomach…” Lion made a retching noise. “Nothing there.”

 

“The hell is it always like this for?” Neville griped. “Always with the no food, the shite conditions. What the fuck did any of us do to deserve this?”

 

“Grew teeth an’ didn’t use ‘em fast enough.” Mox answered bleakly, pausing at the corner of the hallway. “Here we are, now comes the hard part. So. At the end of this hall is freedom. Real, legitimate freedom that you can touch an’ taste, bury your fuckin’ nose in. The only issue is if we don’t make it in three seconds, we’re fucked.” He explained carefully to Lion, who instantly went back to tense. “Now, Nev can help on one side, I’ll take the other, and we’ll make a mad dash for it when he gives the signal. You ready to run?”

 

Lion nodded slowly.

 

“Take a couple deep breaths, get yourself centered. I know ya’ in a drug fog. I promise we’re real, tangible things.” Mox watched as Lion appeared to focus, his eyes narrowing slightly. “There ya’ go, s’ little bit better. You’re gonna’ be floatin’ again in a minute but all we need is three measly seconds.”

 

“Ready?” Neville asked, staring down at his watch. Moxley nodded, his grip tight on Lion’s hip. “In three, two, one.”

 

Lion’s fingers dug into Mox’s shoulder hard enough to bruise as they made a break for it, the young man obviously in full survival mode. Neville shoved the door open and they burst out into the night, hurrying down the side access steps that resembled an old fire escape.

 

“ETA minute thirty, we have to get to the safe zone so Samson can come grab us.” Neville whispered, all but pulling Lion along behind him.

 

“ _Easy_ Nev, he’s got no fuckin’ shoes on man.” Mox pointed out, a bit annoyed.

 

“Can go. Doesn’t matter.” Lion grunted, shaking the hair out of his eyes. He slowed abruptly when he caught sight of the moon, though. She was beautiful tonight, round and brilliant white. Mox wanted to laugh at the expression on Lion’s face. “ _Oh_.” Lion said softly, reaching one hand up as if he could touch it. “Look, look it’s-”

 

“Yeah, the moon.” Mox’s brow furrowed. “How long has it been since you seen her, buddy?”

 

“I don’t…I’m not sure.” Lion mumbled.

 

Mox felt his throat tighten up at how confused the other man sounded. Neville made a noise of disbelief beside him. “Seriously? That’s awful.”

 

“No windows.” Lion pointed out.

 

“Never thought I would be lucky to be in a cage outside. But the idea of bein’ stuck inside…” Mox trailed off as Lion pushed away from him, almost toppling over again. “Easy, easy. I know the contact makes you uncomfortable. Just let us help ya’ to the van an’ then we ain’t gotta’ touch you again without ya’ permission, okay?” Lion made a low sound in his throat. “Where can I touch you?”

 

A huge part of being a sponsor was respecting the boundaries the newly-freed instated, regardless of how silly they seemed. It was about putting the power back in their hands after it had been missing for so long, about easing them into a life that they had direct control over. Numerous individuals had passed through their little organization, Regal setting them up with what they needed to balance things hormonally before they struck out on their own.

 

“Want to walk by myself.” Lion said determinedly.

 

“Alright. I’ll be beside you then. If ya’ feel woozy, just lean on me.” Mox stuffed his hands into his pockets, wishing he had his jacket. He quickly fell into step next to the other man, studying the hitch of his gait. He looked like he hadn’t stretched his legs in ages, which was entirely possible.

 

“Much further?” Lion asked, his steps faltering over the uneven ground. Mox shook his head and Lion clenched his fists, straightening his back stubbornly. “Okay.”

 

“What a fuckin’ trooper.” Moxley praised, “I promise once we get in that van we’ll bundle you right the hell up. You’ll be the coziest motherfucker this side of New York.”

 

“Am cold.” Lion admitted. “Sore.”

 

“You’ll get the once-over from Regal. He’s our doc, he helps all of us out.” Mox was used to having to defang the idea of doctors to new charges. He would call William a pharmacist, but that just tended to confuse. “Get that fog outta' you, huh?”

 

Lion didn’t reply as they came across the van, Elias ready and waiting with the side door open. “Nice to meet you. Climb on in and we’ll be on our way.” Samson was entertainingly formal, shaking Lion’s hand. He did it with all the new acquisitions, doing his part to drive home the point that they should be treated with dignity.

 

Lion looked back warily at Mox, who smiled at him. “It’s okay. Want me to get in first?” Lion nodded, moving to the side to let Moxley pull himself up into the van. “See? It’s alright.”

 

Lion had a little difficulty getting his legs up high enough, the blanket snagging around his thighs. He made a frustrated sound, finally resorting to tipping into the van on his stomach and fumbling his way up into a seat. “My head.” He said by way of explanation, wincing. “Dizzy.”

 

“It’s totally fine. You can sleep now, okay?” Mox slid the door shut and then tucked a blanket around Lion’s shoulders. Lion almost immediately snuggled his chin down into the soft material, his eyes already heavy. “I’ll be right next to you if you need anything.” He assured, settling onto the floor in between the two middle seats. Lion nodded sleepily.

 

Mox leaned his forehead against the plastic frame of the seat, yawning.

 

…

 

“Look at Mox.” Elias whispered, grinning. The third member of their operation was sound asleep, his face mashed up against the seat next to him while he snored. “He’s gonna’ have a corduroy imprint on his cheek.”

 

“M’ surprised Lion is sleeping.” Neville mumbled, his eyes fixed on his small laptop screen as he watched the footage he’d taken from the memory cards. “This is terrible stuff, Samson, Jesus Christ. The place was _huge_ too, like a correctional facility.”

 

“Lofty aspirations?”

 

“Yeah, let’s fucking hope that’s all they are. Pipe dreams and great goddamn expectations.”

 

The audio cued up in the middle of a conversation and Neville turned it up a little, pressing his headphones to his ear. “- _reasonable, come on. You know how this works_ \--”

 

“ _Dun’ want t’_.” Lion slurred through his stifler, his head pitching forward until his chin rested on his chest. “ _Legs hurt_.”

 

“ _That’s too damn bad, isn’t it. Get makeup in here, it’s still a mess from the last bout._ ” The producer grumbled. “ _Its thighs, no shit. Fix it. It can’t rub off on her, either, so seal it_.”

 

Lion struggled as best as he could, the faint click of teeth barely registering on the audio. “ _Bite you, dun’ touch_.”

 

“ _If you don’t knock it off you’re gonna’_ _ **get**_ _knocked off._ ” The producer threatened. “ _This belligerent crap isn’t going to help you_.”

 

“ _Hurts!_ ” Lion yelped as the makeup girl liberally smeared his thighs with concealer. Neville had seen that his thighs were all raw and the idea of pouring thick cosmetics onto open wounds made his own skin crawl.

 

“ _We’ll just have to tone down the lighting I guess. Its hopeless._ ” The producer grabbed Lion’s jaw, growling in his face. “ _You’re fucking pathetic._ ”

 

“ _Need a break_.” Lion begged.

 

“ _You can have a break when you’ve fucking earned one. All you do is lay here anyhow_.” The producer flicked a finger roughly over the head of Lion’s stiff cock, making the dark-haired man cry out behind the muzzle. “ _We have two more scenes, two more girls. You’re fine_.”

 

“ _Hurt_.” Lion said desperately. “ _M’ hurt. Can’t_.”

 

“ _You’re fine, you know how much I hate liars_.”

 

“ _Please, I-_ ” The producer quickly put an end to Lion’s mumbling by covering the nose opening in his muzzle. Lion’s chest heaved, eyes going wide in panic.

 

“ _No more talking or you’ll get shut up forever. Tell her we're ready. Remember, you_ _ **idiot**_ _, you’re a feral and that means animal noises_.” The producer slapped Lion across the face. “ _And no passing out!_ ”

 

Lion’s breath wheezed loudly through the muzzle, the young man obviously panicking as a condom was rolled down over his cock. His hands tightened into fists when the woman climbed over him, his whole body gone rigid.

 

Lion halfway sat up abruptly, making the woman scream and recoil when his face was suddenly inches from her own. Vomit bubbled thickly out of the bottom of the muzzle and Lion’s shoulders shuddered with his retching.

 

The producer swore loudly. “ _Fuck’s sake. Loosen that, don’t want it suffocating on its own vomit. Sorry sweetheart, looks like today’s shoot is cancelled._ ” He apologized to the woman, who mostly just looked annoyed as she wrapped herself back up in her robe. “ _You absolute_ _ **dick**_ _. What the fuck is wrong with you?_ ” He berated Lion, who at this point was coughing and hiccupping hard, his face wet with tears. “ _You cost me this fucking contract and I’ll leave you in your fucking cell for the rest of your pitiful life!_ ”

 

“ _Good!_ ” Lion spat, easier to understand with the stifler loosened. “ _Want that!_ ”

 

“ _Yeah I bet you'd love that. I don't have time to deal with you being a dramatic little shit. Get it back in its cage. Cut recording. What a waste of--_ ”

 

The footage ended with a crackle of static.

 

“Man, you look like someone just punched you in the stomach. What was that?” Samson asked quietly after a minute.

 

“None of us have had it easy.” Adrian swallowed hard, closing his laptop carefully. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “It's always something, Elias.”

 

Elias reached across the center console and squeezed Neville's shoulder comfortingly. “We're doing what we can.”

 

“I should have known that shite like this would happen. I never thought... _druggin'_ us, usin' us like damn livestock. Some absolute _piss-head_ makin' his money off the trauma. I...It's a lucky thing Regal can get rid of the rages for the most part.” Neville snarled, his accent thick with anger. “Ah'd like to go off on tha' motherfucker, _right_ proper. We can't let Mox see this. He'd go to pieces on us.”

 

“Look at it this way.” Elias reasoned. “Lion's with us now. All that garbage is behind him. We're going to help. Focus on all the good we can do, not the bad that's already been done. It'll eat you alive.”

 

“I know you're fuckin' right.” Neville grumbled. “You can't just let me be angry?”

 

“Hell no, you're stuck on the wrong thing when you get angry and _you_ know it.”

 

“Bloody impossible.” Neville slumped a little further down in his seat. Elias rumpled his hair out of the tight bun it was in. “Oh piss off.”

 

“Nope!”

 

…

 

Moxley became aware of a strange trend over the days that followed. Lion kept pilfering his leather jacket. Every time Mox would slip out of it for a second, his shadow was there to scoop it up. Which would have been fine, except for the fact that Lion was a _bit_ broader in the shoulders than Mox. So there would be the squeak of stressing leather that would alert him to the fact that _someone_ was wiggling into his coat again.

 

Baron thought it was the funniest thing, trying his hardest to keep from laughing whenever Lion crept past with the article of clothing. A lot of times Mox would pretend he didn't see the other man, carrying on with his repairs. It seemed like there was always a leak that needed patching in someone's roof, but he supposed that came with the territory of secondhand trailers. At least now he had Baron to help. The taller man had a definite knack for spotting problem areas before they became so.

 

Mox wasn't sure if he'd ever get used to how quiet Lion was, or how closely he followed him. As Lion's sponsor it certainly made his job a bit easier. Didn't exactly have to go _looking_ for the guy every time Regal demanded to see how his thighs were healing. Moxley did his best to maintain a respectful relationship with Lion, knowing that he walked the razor's edge between friendly and beholden in his line of work. Debts of gratitude weren't really his _thing_ , it just made him feel awkward.

 

In a way it was a good thing Lion wanted nobody to touch him. Things were simpler when that was removed from the equation. Casual touch was rife in the 'feral' community though, so it took some getting used to.

 

He still got antsy with William if he was left alone, and sometimes Mox would have to help when it came to that by lurking in the doorway. Lion's thighs became a...well, calling it a problem would imply that it was _bad_. It wasn't a problem. Mox kind of just wished he could touch sometimes, was all. He wished that Lion didn't flinch every time he had to take his coat back.

 

Lion would stay up so late at night, obviously not used to any sort of sleep schedule. And without the haze of downers that Mox knew so well, he no longer seemed to feel the urge to dream his life away. Consequently Mox would find him passed out in odd places, usually by one or two in the afternoon. Once he found him on the _roof_ of his trailer and they had a serious discussion about structural integrity and _not_ ruining the waterproof treatment. Then Lion just kind of...jumped down. Mox damn near had a heart attack at _that_ , scolding the black-haired man roundly and realizing halfway in that he was definitely a mother hen. Lion _smiled_ at him and that stopped him dead. “ _Th' heck is with the grin? You coulda' broke a leg!_ ”

 

“ _You're worried._ ”

 

“ _Damn straight I am! You gotta'_ _ **think**_ _before you do things_.”

 

They talked at length sometimes, normally when Mox was trying to sleep. “ _Moxley?_ ” The question would come quietly through the dark. Mox always knew he could ignore it, but he didn't really _want_ to.

 

“ _Yeah 'sup_.”

 

They still weren't sure how long Lion had been where he was. Neville couldn't rustle up any records if he had nothing to type in at the beginning. All searches on _the producer_ turned up frustratingly empty. Lion couldn't even recall his first name, his _real_ name. It felt wrong to call him his feral name but until he settled on another one, Lion it was.

 

Moxley, while not really granted permission to touch him, _was_ gifted the odd privilege of being allowed to brush his hair. He had seen Lion struggling one day with a hairbrush (Mox had no idea where he'd even _gotten_ it, probably from Regal), the dark-haired man appearing on the verge of tears as he tugged and yanked at his unruly mane. “ _Hey, lemme' help._ ” Mox had carefully taken the brush from Lion's hand, hearing the other man sniffle threateningly.

 

When Baron had come to them he was _filthy_ , his long hair tangled with mats and the vestiges of creepy-crawlies. Needless to say, Mox got _very_ good at brushing. So it was slowly that he started, separating Lion's hair out into smaller sections.

 

It became a ritual of sorts, one that Lion could have put an end to if he wanted. But no, he continued coming to Mox once or twice a week with his brush. And Mox knew it was dumb for him to feel special, knew it was stupid and a waste of his time and all it did was further a doubtless-forming codependency and...

 

...and _none_ of these reasons were enough for him to resist the way Lion's eyes looked when he asked for help.

 

Lion was mostly content to wade and stumble along on his own, stubbornly rebuilding his humanity from the ground up. Regal for the most part salved him and sent him on his way. Maybe he understood a little more than Moxley ever would. Maybe he was just tired of dealing with the rub marks, the scars and bruises from shackles probably commonplace to the pharmaceutical veteran. Lion refused to have his hand held proverbially or literally, refused all but the most clinical of attention. He wanted to be given tasks just like everyone else but Neville was leery of his strength level, worried that he wasn’t fully healed yet.

 

So Mox would ask him for help with little things. Ask him to pass him a screwdriver. Ask him to toss him some more clothespins. It was silly small stuff but Lion lit up eagerly every time, because it was something to _do_ and he was _needed_.

 

…

 

_There was a name that had been on the tip of his tongue for a solid week. He loved how it sounded, repeating it over and over quietly when he was alone. But he knew everyone else would think it was silly._

 

_Maybe…maybe Mox would like it. The light-haired man had mentioned that calling him Lion made him uncomfortable, like he was ‘reinforcing the bad shit that had happened’._

 

“I’ll be a lot better when you pick a new name for yourself. _” Mox admitted._

 

_It had eaten away at him, the search for a_ _ **real**_ _name. Mostly because he wasn’t really sure_ _ **who**_ _he was. Male, sure, but according to Neville that had no bearing on the situation. “_ Whateva’ name makes you feel happy, we’ll be more than glad to call ya’ that. Boy, girl, don’t matter. _”_

 

_He would go through lists in his head, lying awake at night while Mox snored in his bunk. Steve was a nice name, simple, but Alex had the sharp letters in it which would be easier to write. He had asked Moxley what he felt about John and Mox got_ _ **real**_ _quiet for a long time, before finally muttering that it “_ wasn’t right for him. _”_

 

_But this name wasn’t a common Steve, or a sharp Alex. He said it aloud to Mox and watched the other man’s body language for anything bad. Moxley mostly just seemed confused, then asked him to pass him the new timing belt for the truck he was working on. Which wasn’t_ _**exactly** _ _the response he’d been going for, but it definitely wasn’t a negative response either._

 

…

 

“Mox?”

 

Moxley groaned, rolling over onto his side to face the bundled-up man on the opposite bunk. “’Sup, Lion?”

 

“Roman.”

 

“Yeah man, you said that earlier, what’s it me-”

 

“I want that to be my name.” Lion interrupted, his brow furrowed like he’d been thinking hard about this. “I like it. I like how it sounds.”

 

“Well I shoulda’ known you wouldn’t go the conventional route.” Mox propped himself up on one elbow. “If Roman is what you want, it’s what you’ll get. Nice to meet ya’, Roman.” Moxley extended a hand across the trailer for a handshake, which Lion-Roman returned (to his surprise). “Name’s Mox, I do the fixin’ around here. Welcome aboard.”

 

“I…yeah. My name is Roman.” The excited smile he gave Mox sat odd in Mox’s stomach. “I’m Roman. Hi, I’m Roman.”

 

“Yeah yeah, don’t wear it out. You’re stuck with it forever.” Moxley warned with a laugh. “ _Roman_.”

 

“I love it!” Roman didn’t seem to be able to stop smiling. “It’s mine. I have a name. I…I’ll be back.” He flung off his blanket and unlocked the door of the trailer, heading outside. Mox sat up, a little confused as he heard Roman climb onto the roof. “ _Moon!_ ”

 

Mox grumbled under his breath, pulling on some pants and stalking to the door. “ _Jesus_ Roman, you can’t just go hollerin’ to the moon every time somethin’ happens. Get down from there before ya’ hurt somethin’.” He ordered, trying to keep the grin out of his voice.

 

‘ _Roman_ ’ didn’t make him think of all the terrible things that had happened. ‘ _Roman_ ’ was a fresh start, clean and enthusiastic and currently _yelling_ at the crescent moon.

 

‘ _Roman_ ’ was a good name.

 

Roman dropped to the ground in front of him, a little breathless. “I told the moon.”

 

“I noticed. So did everyone else.” Mox said wryly. “I’m sure Styles will be over any second now t’ scold ya’ for disturbin’ the peace.”

 

“Don’t care.” Roman didn’t look like he was _ever_ going to stop smiling.

 

Mox couldn’t help the little snicker he let out. “Alright, let’s get back inside. S’ fuckin’ freezin’ out here.”

 

Roman wrapped an arm around Mox’s neck, surprising the hell out of him when he nuzzled his nose against his cheek like Neville would do. “Because we’re friends, just like you and Adrian.” Roman said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

 

Mox coughed. “Roman, Neville does that because he’s a fuckin’ weirdo. You might wanna’ pick a different call sign.”

 

“Oh.” Roman looked crestfallen and Mox felt a bit guilty. It had obviously taken a lot of guts to reach out like that and of course he shot it out of the sky. He bumped his forehead into Roman’s silently after a moment, displaying his own particular method of showing affection. Roman’s shoulders straightened out and like it was a reflex he full on _headbutted_ Mox, cracking him right in the temple.

 

“ _Fuck!_ ” Moxley yelped, taking a step back and holding the side of his face gingerly. “Christ, what gives man?”

 

“I…” Roman’s confusion was obvious. “…I thought I had to do it as hard as I could?”

 

“Fuckin’ hell, you really think that was all I had? Get over here you asshole, you’re gonna’ feel the wrath!” As the trailer was rather small, it wasn’t long before Mox had him in a loose headlock, undoing all the hard work he’d put in earlier when brushing.

 

Roman wound his arm around the back of Mox’s knees, freeing himself from the headlock by _lifting_ Moxley bodily and then plopping him down onto his bed. Roman pinned him there, laughter coming in gasps as he dug his forehead against Moxley’s and rubbed it back and forth vigorously. “Ha! Now you’ll look like you headbutted the carpet.” He said when he pulled back to admire his handiwork.

 

Mox’s cheeks puffed out momentarily with the effort of stifling his own laughter. “You _dope_ , you got the same mark on _your_ forehead!” He laughed, rubbing his thumb over the red area.

 

“Kinda’ like the marks Baron makes? On his friend’s neck?” Roman sounded _hopeful_. “Is that his weird thing?”

 

_On his friend’s neck_. “Nah, Baron _really_ likes his friend, so that’s a special thing he only does for them. I-” Roman buried his face in Mox’s neck and _bit_ down, making Moxley snap, “ _Hey!_ ” His stomach writhed at the way Roman instantly flinched back from his sharp tone. “Shit, sorry. You startled the fuck outta’ me, man. Can’t latch onto a guy like that.” Mox tried to play it off, tried to ignore the sad look that Roman got. “Roman, hey. You can’t just _bite_ people. That’s rude.”

 

“But you just said…you said Baron did it special for his friend because he really likes them.” Roman pointed out.

 

“Roman, Baron’s friend also _agrees_ to that beforehand. You don’t get to do something to another person without their permission.”

 

“Oh.” Roman’s eyes suddenly widened and Mox braced himself for the impact. “Why did…when I was at the other place, they never…” The black-haired man didn’t seem to be able to finish his sentences, sitting back on his haunches. “The… _producer_.” He finally snarled, his voice gone harsh.

 

Mox sat up cautiously. “What about him?”

 

“Never asked me.”

 

“You weren’t a person to him. Nobody like us is a person to that guy.”

 

“I _am_ a person. You’re a person, too.” Roman insisted. “And Baron and Neville and Elias.”

 

“ _I_ know that, Ro. You’re more of a person than that fucker could ever imagine.” Mox said fiercely. “You’ve got a _name_ now, a name that shithead never heard. A name he never touched. You ain’t _ever_ been Lion, that’s not who you are. S’ just what they called you.”

 

Roman’s face was still troubled so Mox took his hand, slowly tightening his grip until Roman responded in kind. The two of them sat there in silence, Roman staring down at their hands and Mox staring at Roman while the other man was deep in thought. “Roman is my name.” Roman finally said softly. “Because I say so.” He raised their joined hands, making eye contact again. “And because _you_ say so.”

 

“Your opinion is the only one that should matter here, man.”

 

Roman shook his head. “No. You let it be real. You said it out loud.”

 

“Hey, Neville told you we’d call you whatever you wanted. Plus, we aren’t assholes.” Mox didn’t really feel that this should be made into a big deal. The way that Roman was looking at him had his skin crawling with nerves and he swallowed hard. “It’s your name. Your body. Your call as far as who does what to you, from the second Neville opened that door. And don’t take any shit from anyone who tries to tell you otherwise.” Mox said gruffly, dropping Roman’s hand after one last squeeze. “Plenty of folks out there will tell you until they’re blue in the face that you shoulda’ stayed put, that you deserved whatever happened t’ ya’ because of who you are. You ever come across anybody like that, you jus’ tell ol’ Moxley. I’ll fix their fuckin’ wagon.”

 

“You’re a good friend, Mox.” Roman said shakily. He wiped at his eyes after a minute. “M’ sorry, I know it’s late. Just wanted to hear whether you liked my name.”

 

“That’s a proud as hell name. Tough.” Mox wanted to laugh at how red Roman got. “You don’t even have to grow into it.” He snapped his fingers after a second. “Oh, I keep meanin’ to ask. Why the hell do you steal my jacket?”

 

“Smells like you.” Roman replied simply. Mox wasn’t really sure what the noise that came out of him was but he was incredibly happy he managed to camouflage it into a sneeze. “Bless you.”

 

“I just…I uh, I’m gonna’ hit the hay. I’m glad you picked a name, man. Tomorrow you can tell Nev and he’ll get you squared away.”

 

…

 

_Smells like you_. Mox shook his head at himself, trying to keep reading the manual for the solution to the latest mechanical nightmare he’d come across. Through the screen door of the trailer he could catch glimpses of the fire Styles and Samson had built, and faint strains of guitar reached his ears as night fell on the small convoy.

 

Baron didn’t exactly have a _great_ singing voice, but he definitely made up for his pitch with volume. Mox would have loved to join them, but he was extremely leery of fire. There had been an _incident_ when he was in juvenile housing, a glorified kennel that turned into a firetrap when someone had dropped a cigarette.

 

He was grateful that his trailer had a microwave. Even the little propane stove made him anxious.

 

Roman opened the trailer door as Elias started a rousing chorus of ‘ _Wonderwall_ ’, his face sticky with the remnants of a s’more. “You gonna’ come out?” He asked hopefully. “There’s an open chair.”

 

“Can’t. Gotta’ figure this out.” Mox grunted, staring at the same page he’d read backwards and forwards for the past twenty minutes.

 

“Please?”

 

“Ro, m’ busy. And I don’t do fires. Ever.”

 

Roman shut the door behind him, wiping the marshmallow off his chin as an afterthought. “What?”

 

“I said I don’t do fires?” Mox raised an eyebrow. “What, Elias didn’t tell you my deep dark secret? M’ scared of fire.”

 

“ _You’re_ scared of something?”

 

“Yes Roman, I am afraid of something.”

 

“But-” Roman gestured vaguely with his hands. “You’re so brave, though!”

 

Mox couldn’t help the little huff of laughter that escaped him. “I ain’t nothing like that. Somebody lied to you.”

 

“No, I’ve seen it.” Roman insisted. “Like the other day when the motor was still running in that truck and you just kind of stuck your-”

 

“You’re confusing stupid with brave. Common issue. See, _Neville_ is brave. He’s brave because he’s smart and quick and quiet.” Mox pointed at the Band-Aid covering the busted-up area on his hand. “ _I_ am stupid.”

 

“Would a stupid person have pulled me out of that cellar hole?” Roman asked testily.

 

“Well that’s more of a morals question, Ro, we were definitely breaking and entering-”

 

“ _Mox_.”

 

“A dumb person absolutely would have done it, man. Would a dumb person have _succeeded_ , is the question you oughta’ ask.” Mox put down the manual, looking up at Roman. “If that dumb person is directed by Neville? Shit, he can take near any rotten situation and turn it into an advantage. If that dumb person is me? I stop at nothin’. Fuck that hell or high water shit. I’m useful in this group _because_ I’m stupid. I embrace that talent, Ro.”

 

“You’re brave.” Roman repeated stubbornly. “Bravest person I know.”

 

“You say such nice shit.” Moxley scoffed with a grin.

 

“I’m scared of something.” Roman said hesitantly. “I…I mean if _you_ can be scared of stuff, I can too, right?”

 

“Fear is healthy and natural. S’long as you don’t let it rule you, obviously.” Mox opened his mouth, then quickly shut it again. “If you…ever needed to talk to someone about what you’re scared of, you know I’m here.” He offered finally. “No judgement zone, Ro. I don’t even care if you think it’s dumb.”

 

“M’ scared of people touching me.” Roman mumbled, twisting the hem of his shirt. “I don’t…scared of…I’m scared of people touching me when I’m, um...”

 

“When your clothes are off?” Mox supplied. Roman nodded quickly. “That’s kinda’ to be _expected_ , man. You got manhandled and you never want that shit to happen again.” Mox willed his jaw to loosen. It had gone tense when he thought about what Roman must have endured.

 

“I’m all messed up though. In my head. Because I want…I _want_ to. But I’m scared.” Roman seemed frustrated.

 

“You want people to touch you…naked.” Mox said slowly, his stomach lurching at the idea.

 

“I want _one_ person to touch me naked.” Roman corrected, refusing to meet his eyes.

 

“I…”

 

“It was always girls. He only let girls have me. I don’t know if that has anything to do with it.” Mox’s hands clenched down onto the bunk under him. “Sometimes he would flick me on the tip of my…he’d flick me with his fingers.” Roman just kept talking. “If I didn’t cooperate he’d cover my nose so I couldn’t breathe.”

 

“ _Roman_ , please, Jesus Christ.” Mox said weakly. “You shoved your face into my neck an’ started fuckin’ cryin’ when we came up those stairs. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that some terrible shit’s happened to you.”

 

“I want _you_ to touch me.” Roman said, his voice faltering a little. “I want…I trust you. I want to know if I’m broken or not. I mean, it’s alright if I am, I’ll figure it out. I just want to know.”

 

“You want me to…”

 

“I want you to touch me all over and I want…I want to see what happens.”

 

“I can tell you what’ll happen, man.” Mox got to his feet, brushing off his jeans. “But if it’ll make you feel better, if it’ll help you? Yeah, I’ll touch you without ya’ clothes on. Pretty sure I’m getting the better end of this deal, anyhow.” He tried to joke, the humor falling flat when Roman hurriedly yanked his shirt over his head. “Hey, hey. Be gentle to y’self. You’re safe here.”

 

“Don’t want to waste your time, I know you’ve got the thing.” Roman nodded at the manual. “Have to fix problems.”

 

“Shh, that ain’t a priority. It’s alright.” Mox carefully laid his hands on top of Roman’s to still them, the young man already heading for his zipper. “So clothes-off one-o-one here, first rule is if you ain’t into it, clothes stay on. Simple. Easy to remember.” He murmured. “Second rule is ask first. ‘ _Can I_ ’ or ‘ _may I_ ’ always goes better than ‘ _I’m going to_ ’. Can I unzip your pants?” Mox asked softly.

 

Roman’s mouth was a little slack, his eyes a little wider than before. “Y-Yeah.” He gulped.

 

Mox slid down the zipper. He watched with quiet fascination as Roman’s torso trembled from a shaky breath. “May I touch?” Mox flattened his palm on Roman’s chest when the other man nodded rapidly, just feeling the way Roman tried to keep his breathing under control. “Hey, I’m not gonna’ cut you off. Breathe regular.” He instructed. Roman looked guilty and Mox began tracing the lines inked on his chest. “No no, none of that. Just breathe. Nice and easy.”

 

“Want to.” Roman arched a little and Mox’s fingers trailed over his nipple. “ _Oh_.”

 

_That_ was a noise that would make anyone curious. “Like that?” Mox asked, lazily circling his index finger around Roman’s nipple, which began to harden from the attention. “Is that good?”

 

“Oh God, jeez, I-” Roman fumbled for his words, settling on a simple, “No one’s ever…not there.”

 

Moxley huffed out an annoyed noise. “’Course not. It’s never been about you, right?” He ducked his head to carefully lick the area, encouraged by fingers slowly working their way into his hair and Roman muttering _oh God oh God_ over and over. Mox took it as a compliment. “Where do you want me to touch you next?” He pulled his mouth away to ask, walking his fingers over Roman’s other pectoral.

 

“Huh?” Roman asked dazedly. “Oh! Oh. Sorry. I um, I…this is so strange.” His hands continued to stroke through Moxley’s hair absently. “How do you make it so good?”

 

“I ask. And I only use my teeth when people beg for ‘em.” Mox’s hands moved down to touch Roman’s hips while he kept his mouth busy. “What do you want me to do?”

 

“I…oh.” Roman covered Mox’s hands, his face suddenly serious. “I almost forgot.” He said sheepishly.

 

“Hey, we don’t have to go any further than this.” Mox assured him. “I ain’t here for me, so don’t worry about stoppin’.”

 

“I know.” Roman tugged his pants over his hips, letting them settle around his thighs. “More? Please?”

 

“Much as you want.” Mox replied quietly. “Can I touch you? Through your boxers. I ain’t got to touch your skin if you don’t want me to just yet.” He slid his palm down the expanse of Roman’s stomach, chuckling a little when Roman sighed. “Touchin’ doesn’t have to be frantic. _And_ it doesn’t have to lead t’ anythin’. When you say stop, it stops.”

 

“You can touch me. No…no flicking, please.” Roman mumbled, biting his lip and making another noise when Mox smoothed his hands down his sides. “Y _-Yeah_ , mm, good.”

 

“I like when you talk.” Mox whispered, easing his palm over the front of Roman's boxer briefs. “When was the last time you touched yourself?”

 

“I um...” Roman was clearly, _endearingly_ flustered.

 

“How do you touch yourself? Can you show me what you like?” Mox asked gently. Roman went silent, his fingers twitching nervously. “Roman? Do I need to stop?”

 

“No, no. I just...I mean, no one's ever asked me that. Dunno' what to say.” Roman shrugged, grimacing.

 

“O-kay.” Moxley said slowly, running his thumb down the curve of Roman's cock beneath his boxers. Roman put his hands on Mox's shoulders, exhaling hard into the air between them. Mox felt like he might be a little overdressed for the situation but the last thing he wanted was to scare Roman off. 

 

Roman bumped their foreheads together and moaned, jumping slightly when Mox rolled one of his nipples between his fingers. “ _Ah_ , God, yes, that-” He pleaded, “More, touch me I-- _fuck_ -”

 

“Look at you, God.” Mox murmured, a little awestruck at the way Roman bucked his cock clumsily into his hand, practically rubbing himself off. “You like that? Y' like when I stay still an' you can just hump up against my fingers?”

 

“Make my stomach feel funny when you say stuff like that.” Roman groaned and Mox felt like someone had cranked the heat up.

 

“Yeah? So I shouldn't talk about how I want you t' rub yourself on my thigh until you come? Shouldn't say that, because it makes your belly drop out? I shouldn't talk about how I wanna' tease your chest until you're achin' for me to touch you, dick all stiff and leakin' on your stomach? Shouldn't talk about that?” He asked, his words tripping out in an excited rush.

 

“ _Fuck_.” Roman whimpered, his fingers digging into Mox's shoulders and pulling him in tight against him so he could tuck his face into the other man's neck. “Mox, Mox, _please_ -” 

 

“You can bite me if you want to.” Mox offered.

 

Roman looked up, gray eyes wide. “But you said-”

 

“For special friends. Because I really like you.” Mox grinned. “You're lettin' me touch you all over. S' only fair.”

 

“I want to, I _want_ to, Mox, are you sure I can?” Roman was half-asking, half-begging, his mouth already open over Moxley's neck. 

 

“All yours, Ro.” Roman's tongue tasted the area momentarily before his teeth crushed down and Moxley had to choke back a satisfied grunt. “ _Yes_ , fuck, Roman-” He growled. 

 

“I'm-” Roman's whole body went tight and Mox wasn't sure he'd ever been this satisfied by someone else getting off in his entire _life_. Roman's moans were stifled by his skin, the frantic bucks of his hips dissolving him into a quivering mess and then Roman kissed him abruptly, mouth hot on his own. “Oh! Shit, I...sorry.” The black-haired man gasped, pulling back. “Should have asked, sorry.”

 

“I am _not_ complaining.” Mox panted, “Hi Roman, I'm Mox, and I am fuckin' _here_ for this shit.”

 

…

 

_He managed to convince Mox to come out and sit by the fire, now almost burned out. Baron had apparently decimated a bag of marshmallows all by himself, his friend beside him looking decidedly stickier than they had before._

 

“Look at you! _” Elias praised Moxley, smiling broadly as the light-haired man settled warily into the folding chair. Once he pulled it a little ways back, of course. Roman sat on the ground between Mox's legs, having promised to keep him safe from the fire. “_ And of course, ever present Roman. I've got a song for you, man. _”_ _Samson tinkered with the instrument on his lap for a second, humming a few bars_. _“_ Me, and my shadow, walking down the avenue...” _He crooned slowly, strumming away. “_ There's no one here but me, me and my shadow... _”_

 

_Roman eased back against Moxley and felt careful fingers lace into his hair, stroking over his scalp. Without intending to, his eyes drifted shut. He fell asleep there, wrapped in the warm sensation of Moxley's body solid against his own and those fingers, gently rubbing._

 

“There's no one here but me and my shadow...”

 


	3. Breeder Braveheart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains usage of straitjackets and allusions to previous abuse, as well as human muzzling of a non-BDSM variety and mentions of delousing. Stay safe!]

“How much for that one?” The well-dressed young man asked, his eyes lingering on the cage while he fidgeted with the scarves around his neck.

 

“Braveheart? It’s a big ‘un. Brings a lot of gamblers in, I can’t part wi-”

 

“I didn’t ask what you could or couldn’t do.” The young man continued over the ringmaster, his eyes narrowing. “If you wanted to keep… _it_ , you wouldn’t have put it on display.”

 

“True enough, kid, but-”

 

“Brings in the gamblers, yeah? So why sell it?”

 

“S’ a fuckin’ nuisance.” The ringmaster snapped. “Too much collateral damage. This is its fourth cage, and the rages…it’s a danger to itself _and_ the handlers. I have to up the dosages if I want to breed it and that cocktail is _expensive_. It won't win fights. If I like making profits, I can’t afford to hang onto it.”

 

“I tell you what I’m going to do.” The young man pulled his wallet out of his pocket and removed a wad of hundreds. “I’ll buy it off you. As an act of charity, two grand.”

 

“Hell, that’s over triple what that tight-fisted McMahon was offering me. You’ve got a deal, Mr.…?”

 

“Delilah.”

 

“You’ve got a deal, Mr. Delilah. I’ll fetch Braveheart’s papers.”

 

…

 

The cage wouldn’t stop rocking and spinning. His stomach protested violently and he curled into the fetal position, spit and bile dribbling out around the gag in his mouth. This was it, then. Passed off to the next person in the chain.

 

He wondered how long it would be before they slapped a new name on him. _Breeder Braveheart_. More bile surged up. _That’s not my real name_. _It’s not my real name_.

 

Light flooded the cage and there was the heavy tread of boots on the wooden floor. Someone had gotten into the cage _with_ him. He wanted to scream and scramble away. But he was so tightly secured in the jacket, and his legs were _heavy_ with the drugging to keep him docile.

 

“Easy, easy.” The person soothed, a gloved hand touching his hair. He felt a flicker of shame. He must be filthy. “It’s okay. We’re here to help.”

 

_A likely story._

 

One of his eyelids was pried open and a blinding light shone briefly into it. “Mox, get the jacket off. Baron, grab one of the blankets. His pupils are dilated, so he’s still under the weather. There’s no script on his papers. God only knows what concoction that fuckwit plied him with. We need to get him to Regal.”

 

He felt someone else sidle up behind him and he flinched, snarling loudly and then gagging.

 

“Whoa big fella, just Mox. Here to help. Nobody should have to deal with these fuckin’ straits.” A gravelly voice said from over his shoulder.

 

He knew he should open his eyes. Needed to face his new _owners_ , his new captors. Couldn’t show any fear. If only he wasn’t so _foggy_.

 

Someone was humming. Soothing, deep voice. Those fingers continued to stroke over his hair, nitrile squeaking with the motion. He found himself staying still as the straitjacket loosened.

 

“ _There_ we go, that’s better right?” That was the voice of the man who had made the offer. He shuddered and his gag was undone, dropping from his mouth. “Do you have a name?”

 

“Braveheart.” He croaked, feeling saliva and vomit trickle through his unkempt facial hair.

 

A wet cloth gently smoothed over his mouth, moisture stinging his dry, chapped lips. “Your real name.”

 

_He’s speaking to me like I’m a person._

 

“Drink.” He rasped instead, the straitjacket getting pushed off his shoulders and down his arms.

 

“We want to get you out of this first. When did you eat last?”

 

“I…I din’ remember.”

 

“Are you hungry?”

 

“Can’t, th’…nothin’ in me.” He gagged again, muscle-memory flare-up from having the bent plastic stifler shoved past his teeth. Soft fabric was wrapped loosely around his bare shoulders. “Needed it t’ drink what they forced. Hole in the middle a’ it.”

 

“Can you open your eyes?”

 

After a momentary struggle, he managed to oblige. “Drew. Name is Drew.” He grunted. _Braveheart_. _**Drew**_ _, damn it_.

 

The man in front of him smiled kindly through his thick beard. “Well Drew, it’s great to make your acquaintance. Wish the circumstances were better, but you know how it is. Mox is just gonna’ sit you up so you can have some Gatorade, okay?”

 

Arms slipped beneath Drew’s shoulders, heaving him up to slump against the wall of the cage. “There, prop your head up. _Man_ , they must have you on the fuckin’ _strong_ medicine.” Commented the light-haired man Drew had to assume was Mox.

 

His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Sore, pounding cotton. He watched warily as the man in front of him twisted the cap off a bottle of neon-colored sports drink. “How’s your arms? Do you need a hand?” The bearded man asked, extending the bottle to him.

 

“Think I c’n manage.” Words were thick and strange in his mouth. It seemed like it had been ages since he’d spoken. Drew’s arm shook with the effort of raising the drink to his lips. The threat was more from habit than actual malice. “Ye're gonna' regret pickin' me up.”

 

“Little sips. Don’t want you getting sick.”

 

“I brought the crackers.” Said a tattooed young man who towered over the other two.

 

“Good move, Baron.” The bearded man praised, quickly accepting the box. “At this rate, Nev might start giving you your own assignments.”

 

“I dunno’ if I’m smart enough for that.” Baron replied uncertainly. “If I hadn’t forgotten the Pedialyte we would have been on time.”

 

“M’ sorry, but who the fuck are all ya’?” Drew asked bluntly, hydration livening his tongue. “Talkin’ t’ me like I have more n’ two brain cells. S’ got me curious.” The bearded man fed him a single cracker.

 

“We’re…well, I dunno’ what to call us.” Mox admitted. “We’re rescuers. We do…rescuing things. Relocations, rehabilitations, you name it. If you’re a feral, ya’ on our radar.”

 

“Oh? Rescuers? That’s a funny one. E’nt heard it before. You boys are a riot.” Drew snapped. “When does my jacket go back on, then? Before or after ye’ve slid the knife 'tween my ribs?”

 

“It’s…this isn’t a _joke_ , Drew.” The man in front of him protested, giving him another cracker to nibble on.

 

“Ye, ‘course it e’nt.” Drew shook his head. “Fuck’s sake, you lot are just t’ fuckin’ _worst_. Get a man’s hopes up an’ slam the collar back on. No wonder ye name is _Delilah_.” He spat.

 

To his confusion the bearded man grinned. “Just wait ‘til you find out my real name, big guy.” The man got to his feet and extended a hand to Drew. “C’mon, it’s warmer in the van.”

 

“Don’t make him _sing_.” Baron groaned, hauling Drew upright when he avoided taking the other man’s hand. “If you ignore him, he’ll just start singing. One time I tried to sleep in and I paid for it with a three hour long serenade of Let It Go.”

 

“Drew’s off-limits for musical torture, due to further evaluation. _You_ , on the other hand...” The bearded man threatened with a chuckle.

 

The plastic covering the seat crinkled beneath Drew when Baron cautiously lowered him down. “You’re okay to sit, right? No bedsores or anything like that?” Baron asked worriedly.

 

“No, m' _arse_ is in pristine condition.” Drew grunted. “Hips are great too.”

 

The sarcasm seemed to fly over Baron’s head as he gave Drew a small grin. “Good! That’s good. Do you want another blanket? For your legs?”

 

Mox climbed into the seat on the opposite side of the van, reaching over quickly to buckle Drew in. Drew grimaced when the belt sawed over his bare hip. “Second blanket may uh. May be a good idea.” He admitted after a moment or two. “Diggin’ in o’er here.”

 

“Hang on, I gotta’-” Mox tucked a rag between Drew’s hip and the belt, then Baron spread a blanket across his lap. “How’s that? Not restrictin’ ya’ movement, right? We don’t need any rages in the van.”

 

“Nae, m’ alright.” Drew felt…strange. “What would y’ lot even _do_ , if I did start up?”

 

“Get Mox out of here and have Samson bear-hug you until you passed out.” Baron said bluntly.

 

There was a quiet _smack_ as the bearded man ( _Samson?_ ) hit his forehead with his palm. “Thank you, Baron.”

 

“Answers m’ fuckin’ question, I like you.”

 

“We only had to do that once though.” Baron added hurriedly. “You’ll be fine.”

 

“Oh ye, grand.” Drew growled. “E’nt nothin’ t’ worry about, they have me so dosed up I can’t hardly feel m’ legs. Be a damn short rage.”

 

“Alright guys, enough chitchat. Lotta’ ground to cover before we’re in the clear.” Mox urged. “Let’s get a move on.”

 

The van rumbled to life and jerked forward. The now-empty cage behind it clattered and clanked loudly, making Drew grit his teeth. Mox’s hand hovered over his shoulder for a second, the light-haired man silently asking permission. Drew finally nodded, but all Mox did was carefully tug his blanket back up to cover his shoulder.

 

“Close your eyes, man. Look like you’re havin’ a rough time stayin’ awake.”

 

“Ah, _that’s_ when you’ll slide the blade between my ribs, ye?” Drew blinked slowly at the other man. He barely had the energy to keep his head up.

 

“You and knives in your ribcage! With how thick your accent is, ya’ make it sound like ‘ _there can be only one_ ’.” Mox snickered.

 

“I dunno’ what ye’re on about. I feel like you made a joke.” A faint spike of irritation flared. “Once this shite wears off, ye’re in a dangerous spot. Another breeder? Or more fightin’?”

 

“The only place _you’re_ heading to is dreamland. Shh.” Mox said with the air of someone humoring a small child. “Take a nap. I’ll wake ya’ up in a little while, give ya’ more crackers.”

 

Drew fought sleep tooth and nail for a while. It seemed too dangerous. Going to sleep in a van full of strangers and expecting nothing bad to happen sounded like the epitome of naive. But he finally drifted off into an uneasy doze staring at Samson’s hands on the steering wheel.

 

…

 

“Christ, he might be in the same boat as Roman.” Elias murmured to Baron, watching via the rearview mirror as Drew struggled to stay awake. “He has breeding papers. I’ve never come across that before.”

 

“ _Breeding_ -”

 

Elias hurriedly shushed the taller man. “This obviously runs a little _deeper_ than the porno industry. I mean, I know making money off of other people’s suffering is kinda’ an American pastime, but his papers say he’s from fucking _Scotland_.” Samson sighed. “Nev isn’t gonna’ be too happy about this development.”

 

“Well we know now, right? S’like half the battle.” Baron pointed out.

 

“What the hell is _wrong_ with people?” Elias growled, his grip on the steering wheel tightening.

 

“Pretty sure that’s Neville’s line.”

 

“He can talk, though! More than you _or_ Roman could when we got to you. He’s either been legitimately educated or he’s smart enough to convincingly act that he has been. The real question is how did he end up like this?” Elias mused.

 

“It’s like when we picked up Roman. Grew teeth and didn’t use ‘em quick enough.” Mox interjected from the seat behind Elias. “Maybe he lost his temper with the wrong person.”

 

“Yeah, like what happened to me.” Baron agreed, looking uncomfortable. “Got too bite-y.”

 

“You never had the rages though, you just liked putting shit in your mouth.” Elias teased, trying to lighten the mood.

 

“What _are_ the rages like?” Baron asked. “Nev told me I should ask one of you when I asked him.”

 

“It’s…hard to explain.” Mox began slowly, clenching his fists on his thighs. “It’s like a predator-prey situation for me. I get fixated onto something or someone and I just kinda’...tear through whatever it is. Everything goes black and I eventually come back into focus a little bloodier than before.”

 

“Mine were different.” Elias cleared his throat. “I mean, I haven't had one for over a year, thanks to Regal. But I'd get tunnel vision, this loud, high-pitched ringing in my ears. Itch under the skin. I was also _very_ mentally present through my outbursts.”

 

“Jesus. I feel like I'd rather go dark than know what I'm fuckin' doing.” Baron grimaced.

 

“'Lias had more control over his, though. Mine just kinda' take my body for a joyride.” Moxley straightened up when flashing blue and red lights caught his attention. “Oh, _fuck_ me.”

 

“It's alright. We're fine. He probably just wants to go past us.” Elias put on his blinker and eased off to the shoulder, but the police cruiser pulled in right behind him. “Well then.”

 

Drew started awake, probably roused by the cease of forward motion. He flailed momentarily in the seat before going still, distracted by the cracker Moxley wisely handed him. “Lights?” He rasped after a minute.

 

“We're okay. Routine stop.” Elias tried to reassure the large man, cringing when Drew's head snapped to the side to watch the police officer slowly make his way to Elias' window. “Evening officer, is there a problem?” Samson greeted the young man as politely as he could manage.

 

“License and registration.”

 

“Of course, let me just-”

 

“Hang on, I've got the registration.” Baron interrupted, leafing through the glove compartment and grabbing the paper that said _Delilah_. Elias thanked his lucky stars that Neville made sure Baron was on _top_ of document management when it came to their vehicles. He could barely keep his fake IDs organized, and that was with multiple wallets!

 

The officer took his time looking at his identification, glancing over Samson's shoulder to where Drew was sitting. “Your buddy sleeps like a rock.” He commented absently. “And your left taillight is out.”

 

“It must be loose. I just replaced it two days ago.” Elias replied smoothly. “I'll get it taken care of.”

 

The police officer nodded in the direction of the rear of the van. “No luck at the feral auction, I assume?”

 

“All the strong ones were gone by the time we got there! We have the worst timing.” Elias feigned a disappointed groan.

 

“See, that's really strange. Because according to a report I got earlier today, a _Mr. Delilah_ bought one of the ferals for sale. But when the man who sold him his prize breeder went to deposit his two grand at the bank, the teller informed him that he'd been handed a stack of counterfeit bills.” The officer was watching Elias closely. “So where's the feral, Delilah?”

 

Samson opened his mouth, then closed it again. _Think!_ He screamed at himself, fumbling to come up with a convincing excuse.

 

“ _Right here!_ ” Moxley erupted from the side door before the officer could draw his gun, his hood on and mesh mask up. A brief scuffle ensued but Mox had the element of surprise, the brawler pressing his advantage to quickly knock the officer out.

 

He got to his feet and headed for the back of the vehicle. Samson was shaking in his seat when Mox pulled open the door once more and handed him back his papers.

 

“We'll have to get rid of those. I fucked up his hood cam and unhitched the cage. _Drive_ , man.” Moxley ordered, slapping the back of Elias' head.

 

Elias wordlessly threw the van into gear and peeled out, dimly hearing Baron berate Mox for his aggressive behavior. So much for them displaying a united front for their new rescue! Samson chanced a look up at the rearview and found that Drew was staring at him. Drew broke eye contact after a moment, tucking his face down into the blanket around his shoulders.

 

…

 

“You did _what?!_ ”

 

“He was on to us! The jig was up, Nev!” Mox replied defensively.

 

“ _Why_ can't you ever have faith in Elias' gift of gab, fuck's sake Mox! We can't be _assaultin'_ the local law enforcement!” Neville shouted, seeming inches from throwing his laptop at the wall. “Fuck's sake!”

 

“It's my fault.” Elias said quietly from the side. “I take full responsibility. Mox saw me freeze.”

 

“ _Christ_ all-fuckin'-mighty. Alright. Alright. Where the hell is Styles? We need to hitch up and move out as soon as possible.” Neville dragged a hand down his face. “A fine fuckin' mess this is now, new lad in and everything goes to _fuck_.”

 

“I'll go find Sheriff Styles.” Baron offered, making himself scarce. Neville groaned loudly, banging his head on his desk.

 

“I'm...fuck, I'm sorry. I fucked everything up.” Moxley mumbled. “I just...I panicked. Ro isn't stable enough to deal with field ops yet and I-”

 

“I understan'. You're involved with him, I _get_ it Mox.”

 

“It's not _like_ that, motherfucker! I'm not letting anyone get bagged ever again if I can help it!” Moxley yelled. “For _fuck's_ sake, we took Ro from a _porn dungeon_ , and this guy-!”

 

“Breeder.” Drew grunted awkwardly through a mouthful of toast and Gatorade. His head was pounding and he mostly just wanted to lie down.

 

“What the _fuck_.” Neville breathed.

 

“Been bred. Milked. Like...l-livestock.” Drew continued, the words to explain his suffering harder to come by than he expected. “Breeder Braveheart. There are others. I fought sometimes, prove I was strong to breed.”

 

“His name is Drew. Last name McIntyre, but I don't know if that's made up so that he looks more official. He came with _papers_ , Neville. Supposed bloodlines, list of partners. They're breeding us.” Elias explained quietly.

 

“Any mention of parents?” Neville asked after a long, shell-shocked silence.

 

“Ma and Da gave me up. Was seventeen.” Drew had honestly forgotten he came with a last name. “T' name is right though. From...” The exact area escaped him and he settled for simply, “Scotland.”

 

“No shit, lad.” Adrian looked worried. “More of us from across the pond.”

 

Baron burst back into the trailer, wild-eyed with two more people in tow. “I can't find Styles!” He said, sounding panicky. “I got Roman and Love, they couldn't find Styles either. He's missing, Nev.”

 

“I do _not_ need this shite. You lot know what to do, hitch up and swap the van plates. Elias, you're sponsoring Drew. Regal!” Neville barked, “We need him cleaned!”

 

“Is that _really_ a priority right now?” Elias asked worriedly.

 

“It's either that or he's getting a face wash and a shower cap until the next stop. Your choice, Drew.” Neville turned to Drew, one eyebrow raised.

 

“If I wait...that means we can leave sooner?” _God_ , his body ached. Neville nodded. “I can wait.”

 

“Regal, change of plans! Quick scrub while we hitch the trailers!”

 

The older man had _cold_ hands. Elias hovered the whole time Regal was carefully brushing out and trimming Drew's bedraggled facial hair, eventually stepping in to douse his head with a healthy amount of strange-smelling olive oil. “When we get to the next stop, obviously there will be further treatment. Until then, keep that cap on.” Regal patted the bath cap and chucked Drew under the chin in a fond gesture. “You're a member of the family now, lad. As incredibly glamorous as that is. Free delousing with every new crew mate.”

 

Drew couldn't help his laugh. It hurt a little bit and it didn't sound right at _all_. He hadn't laughed in what felt like centuries. “Nae breedin'?”

 

“You're safe now.” Elias said firmly. “You don't have to go back to that ever again.”

 

Drew just nodded, too overwhelmed to properly gather his words. He knew his silence must seem ungrateful, but he assumed that the men in front of him had come across others who were less vocal.

 

Elias hesitated for a second, his hand waiting over Drew's until Drew nodded. He carefully took the other man's hand into his own, Elias kneeling so he could meet his eyes properly. “I'm your sponsor. Which means your safety is my responsibility, your well-being is my priority. You owe me nothing in exchange for this. I volunteered as a sponsor because I want people to succeed. I will do everything I can to help you adjust to your new freedom, and I _will_ keep you safe.” Samson promised solemnly.

 

Drew had no idea what his body was doing. His chest felt hot and his throat was tight. His vision blurred and he broke eye contact, startled to realize that he was _crying_. Elias hummed soothingly, reaching towards Drew's face and then pausing. Drew shook his head and the other man withdrew his hand immediately. A sob wrenched free from his chest. “Not fair.” Drew choked out.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Why me?”

 

“Just dumb luck, I suppose. Neville said we should show up to this auction, he’d gotten a tip about ferals from across the pond.” Elias shrugged. “He was concerned about them maybe being folks he knew.”

 

Drew huffed in a shaky breath. “Sorry t’ disappoint.”

 

“Hell no! We wouldn’t have known about this breeding crap without you, that information is _kind_ of a big deal.” Elias pointed out. “One of our other guys was kept in a basement cell and pumped full of drugs for performance in porn films, so it isn’t like we didn’t know that the so-called _normal_ people are perfectly willing to exploit our bodies.” Elias’ face darkened. “I just didn’t expect this _level_ of exploitation. Stupid me, I guess.” He gave Drew an apologetic smile after a second. “Sorry, got doom and gloom there for a minute. Let’s get you bundled back into the van, alright? We have a trek ahead of us.”

 

…

 

“I fucked up, Roman.”

 

Roman tilted his head, confused. “What do you mean, Mox?”

 

“I _mean_ I fucked up.” Mox growled, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel when a gust of wind made the trailer sway. “I fucked up big time back there. I know it and Neville knows that I know, I’m assumin’ that’s why he didn’t kick my ass.”

 

“What did you do though? I didn’t get the whole story, I was helping Baron look for Sheriff Styles.”

 

“I jumped a police officer. Knocked him out.” Mox held up a hand, stopping Roman’s frantic questions before he could get started. “He knew about the counterfeit bills. He knew Samson’s alias. We needed to act quick and I made the decision to strike because Elias went deer in the headlights. We already had Drew in the van, all bundled up in a blanket like you were the first time we met and I just…” Mox paused, blinking rapidly. “I couldn’t let something happen. I’m your sponsor, _dammit_ , if we got put away that would be the end of this shit.”

 

“Are you okay?” Roman asked softly.

 

“ _Fuck_ no, I barely stopped myself before I snapped the guy’s neck. It wasn’t even a fight for survival, I’m just so used to…it was like muscle memory.” Mox shuddered all over. “I don’t know how many times I musta’ done that in order for it to be somethin’ I can do without thinkin’ on it.”

 

Roman put a hand on Mox’s thigh, rubbing timidly in small circles. “I’m sorry.”

 

“My own fault man, I was spoilin’ for a fight and took the first opportunity I saw. Fuckin’. _Stupid_ choice.” Mox cleared his throat. “They had him in a straitjacket. Like me.”

 

“Oh no.”

 

“Yeah so I mean, I was already _well_ on my way to losing my fuckin’ cool.” Mox shook his head. “Not an excuse.” He covered Roman’s hand on his leg. “I’m ya’ sponsor, right? That means you come first, no matter what. And that I’ll protect you, keep ya’ safe. Okay?”

 

Roman nodded, his eyes still wide.

 

“I’m makin’ ya’ a promise that I ain’t gonna’ do dangerous shit like that again.” Moxley said firmly, “unless it’s sanctioned by the powers that be. I’d be a pretty shitty sponsor if I was six feet under.”

 

“Mox, are we…are we in trouble?” Roman asked slowly after a moment or two of silence had passed.

 

Mox just shrugged. “I don’t know yet. No word from Sheriff Styles. I’m in the dark, just like you.” He squeezed Roman’s hand. “But we’re together and that counts for somethin’.”

 

…

 

Almost three weeks went by with no word from Styles. Elias felt guilty about the whole situation. What if AJ had been scooped up? What if something had gone wrong?

 

And that nasty voice in the back of his head chiming in with _what if he sold us out?_ Elias didn’t _want_ to let his less-than-shining opinion of Styles get in the way of his logical reasoning, but as time marched on he grew more and more concerned.

 

Amidst all of the veteran members worries, the two newer acquisitions tried hard to make themselves useful. Roman would still tail Mox almost silently, and Drew mimicked his behavior when it came to Elias.

 

Drew always hunched a little, always seemed to be holding his breath. Elias hoped that eventually he would realize he was safe, but until then the bearded man did his best to remain calm around his new charge. Regal had held a full examination once Drew had been properly nit-picked and blow-dried, the older gentleman giving him a clean bill of health. “ _Keep him safe, now_.” He had said to Samson. “ _He’s a nervous one, but he’s trying his damnedest to act like he's not. Respect the effort he’s putting in_.”

 

Regal had immediately started with his treatment, making a concerted effort to ease the withdrawal symptoms from whatever Drew had been plied with to keep the rages under control. Drew didn't complain once, even after his body was wracked with tremors and he ended up bedridden.

 

He actually _laughed_ when Elias brought him flowers and a get well card. The noise didn't sound quite so wrong this time.

 

Samson did everything that he could to keep the man entertained when he was stuck in bed, and he found out that Drew would hesitantly take his hand if he sat beside him long enough. So Elias made it a point to camp out next to the bunk and chat him up, thrilled with that progress.

 

Drew spoke sparingly of his home, a deep sadness evident in his heavily-accented brevity. He talked about his family even less. “ _It's almost Hogma--er, Christmas, yeah?_ ” He had asked out of the blue one day, fidgeting absently with the bandannas wrapped around Samson's wrist.

 

“ _You're right! A lot of us have difficulty with the passage of time, seeing as how when we're captive we don't have to manage things like that_.”

 

“ _Will y' hae a dinner?_ ” Drew seemed tense for whatever reason, his eyes darting up briefly to meet Elias'. “ _Christmas dinner?_ ”

 

“ _Usually we do. I mean, we have a variety of people in our group so traditions get a little_ _ **muddled**_ _, but yeah. Food. Is there a specific tradition or food that you'd like to share?_ ” Elias had done his best to keep his tone level. This could be an important breakthrough with the other man.

 

“ _I...I dunno'. It's been ages. I remember we...we had a puddin' for damn near everythin'._ ” Drew's smile had been wistful.

 

“ _So pudding?_ ”

 

Drew had nodded, going silent for a while afterwards. Elias let him be, more than happy with the advancements he had made. “ _I was threatened with y' singin' when you first found me._ ” Drew finally murmured. “ _Haven't heard a peep out y' though. Afraid of scarin' me off?_ ”

 

“ _Of course! I know how intimidating my tunes can be._ ” Drew laughed again and Elias grinned back at him, squeezing his hand. “ _Maybe you'll get some carols from me yet_.”

 

...

 

The voices of strange men and loud banging on the trailer walls roused the ferals from their slumber late in the night. Samson bolted to his feet as Drew flailed, struggling with his blankets for a moment. Elias flung the door of his trailer open and stared out at the scene in front of him. Drew could barely see around his hip, but the campsite was _swarming_ with dark figures. A southern-accented voice hollered, _“Flush_ _‘em out, boys!_ ”

 

Drew watched in confusion as Elias' face darkened. “I hate when I'm right.” The bearded man groaned. “AJ sold us up the river.” A masked man lurched towards the open trailer door, cattle prod sparking in the darkness. Elias caught him up under the arms and bodily _threw_ him back out of the trailer. “Drew, stay in th-!”

 

“You’d best not be tryin’ tae tell me t’ stay put, then.” Drew grunted, already halfway done struggling into his boots. “Ye’re fuckin’ nuts if y’ think I’m hidin’ in here while you lot fight.” He was still shaking with fever chills, only _just_ keeping his teeth from chattering audibly by clenching his jaw.

 

“Drew, I-” Elias began, looking torn.

 

“Samson, with me!” Came the clipped tones of Neville, the acrobatic mastermind gracefully ducking and dodging his way towards the man Drew could only assume was Styles. The _idiot_ sheriff had posted up on the firepit, slightly elevated over the area.

 

“A man’s gotta' make a livin’, Nev!” AJ protested loudly.

 

Mox had already been restrained, four men muscling him into a straitjacket while Roman yelled and fought the grip of three more individuals. Baron was on the ground, snapping and snarling “ _Wolf bite!_ ” as bodies piled onto him to keep him down. Love jumped into the fray, their smaller form a blur to Drew while they slugged wildly at the hordes pinning Baron.

 

Elias was frozen, just staring dumbly at his friends, his _family_ being brutalized. Drew was suddenly reminded of when he had panicked and gone tongue-tied with the police officer.

 

Drew placed a hand on Elias’ shoulder and pushed him aside none-too-gently, the Scottish feral rising to his full height for the first time in recent memory. “They’ve come for me and y’ kin as well. Y’ jus’ gonna’ stan’ there?” Drew asked bluntly. “Or are y’ gonna’ fuckin’ fight, _Delilah?_ ”

 

“I-I haven’t fought in-”

 

“Di’nt matter.” Drew cut him off. “If y’ don’t fight now, we’re fucked.” Elias grimaced and began to unwind the scarves from around his neck. “Th' fuck're y' doin'?”

 

“Reminding myself of something.” Samson's fingers grazed down to the base of his throat, tracing thin, ragged lines of scar tissue that marred the skin normally hidden by his myriad collection of scarves. His eyes narrowed. “I promised to keep you safe.”

 

“Y' cannae do tha' alone.” Drew nodded in the direction of the Elias' neck. “Wha' happened?”

 

Samson didn't answer, instead bolting from the trailer and immediately tearing into the dog-pile on Baron. “ _Fuck off!_ ” He yelled, heaving bodies left and right off of the large man at the bottom. “Love, go after Roman, get him free so he can loose Mox!”

 

Baron's 'special friend' (who went by Love for whatever reason; Drew hadn’t thought it important enough to ask) obeyed Elias' orders without question, their whole body a wrecking ball aimed at the men who were keeping Roman from reaching his sponsor.

 

Drew lumbered towards Elias, his own body feeling like it was too heavy for him. The larger man roughly spun Samson around, redirecting him towards where AJ was tussling with Neville. “Go make tha' bastard pay! I've got this!” He shouted over Moxley’s infuriated screaming.

 

“You _shouldn’t_ be fighting!” Elias protested.

 

“Ye? And?” Drew grunted, his fist connecting solidly with the skull of one of the men on top of Baron. “Y’ need my help. I’m here Delilah.” His smile ached a little. “S'pect a song once this is all over.”

 

“Without a doubt.” Samson clapped him on the shoulder, offering his own grin. Drew’s eyes wandered to the hand touching him and he noticed that Elias had lost a few of the colorful bandannas he wore looped around his wrists. The skin beneath them was crisscrossed with divots and faded scars. Marks from where cuffs had dug in.

 

Blue eyes widened in realization, Drew was unable to think of anything to say for a moment. “Make tha’ bastard pay.” He finally repeated stupidly. Elias nodded and headed for the two men trading blows on top of the firepit.

 

_Just act like you’re the chosen one when you go out there, breeder!_ His last captor’s voice rang loudly in his head and Drew snarled, grabbing Baron’s heavily tattooed arm in the pile of bodies and dragging him upright with nothing but brute strength. Baron snapped his teeth once before he noticed who had a grip on him, nodding his thanks and kicking a masked individual in the ribs hard enough to send them flying. “Love!” He shouted, looking around frantically.

 

“Here, Baron!” They called. Baron and Drew turned to see them crouched next to a frothing Moxley, Roman struggling to undo the taut buckles on the straitjacket. Drew’s breath caught in his throat and he forgot about his aching body, the strain of motion.

 

“Hold it, _hold it!_ ” Drew yelled to Roman. “Dinnae’ undo that! You’re gonna’ hold him as tight as y’ can and I’ll unbuckle him, un’nerstan’?” Moxley shrieked and for a split-second Drew debated the sanity of his own plan. “Do _not_ let him go, hear me, he’s nae in a state of mind t’ be unleashed but we’re nae leavin’ him in that fuckin’ coat either.”

 

Roman looked inches from tears as Moxley struggled in his arms, the light-haired man obviously trapped in more than the jacket as his teeth closed down on the air and he shook his head wildly.

 

Drew knelt and quickly unsnapped the buckles securing the sleeves. “Easy now, easy.” He murmured, Moxley thrashing against the unwavering strength of Roman’s hold on him. “It’s alright, it’s alright Mox. He hasnae raged around y’ before?” Drew asked Roman, who shook his head no. “Alrigh’, voice low an’ calm, jus’ gentle touchin’ on the back of his neck, a--” A muscular arm was suddenly cutting off his air and Drew choked, clawing desperately at the person’s exposed skin.

 

“You’re the one that’s the troublemaker, eh _Breeder Braveheart?_ ” Styles sneered in his ear, his usage of Drew’s feral name making his blood run cold. “Been a fun chase, but now it’s time to pay the fuckin’ piper. Counterfeit bills ain’t worth jack shit, so I guess _you're_ stolen property.”

 

Drew strained in the shorter man’s chokehold, his lungs begging for air. _Chosen one, chosen one-_

 

Nothing good would happen if he raged out. _Nothing_.

 

But would anything _worse_ happen?

 

Drew began to struggle more vigorously and Styles cinched his hold even tighter. That was his answer, then. Some member of the group _he_ was, trying to coach someone else through dealing with a rager and then he himself submitting to it.

 

_For the sake of them. To keep them safe._

 

_Because he promised me a song_.

 

Drew likened his rages to being caught in a strobe light. There were flashes, between five to fifteen seconds of memory apiece. The deafening noise of his own breathing drowned out almost everything else, the slow tick-tock of his lungs marking the passage of time.

 

AJ’s arm made the loudest sound when he snapped it, Drew flinched at the volume of it. The snow giving way under his boots as he rose to his feet once more. Legs aching, then he was across the campsite, bouncing one of their attackers heads off of a picnic table-

 

- _all these men, all these men so ready to turn them in_ -

 

-cattle prod just infuriated him, Drew tore it from the man’s grasp and snapped the weapon over his knee like it was a toy-

 

-bone cracking under the impact of his fist and he couldn’t tell whether it was his own or-

 

- _the cage wouldn’t stop spinning, they talked about sending him to a producer, a producer, ‘could make a profit if it wasn’t for the rages’_ -

 

-black fabric ripping as Drew slammed a man against a tree and grated his face down the bark-

 

- _‘Get up,_ _ **chosen one**_ _, you’re costing me money just lyin’ there!’ the ringmaster shouted, bald head shining with sweat as money exchanged hands and Drew pulled himself up_ -

 

-there was a hand on the back of his neck. God, he was exhausted. Someone was humming. “Tired.” Drew said thickly.

 

“I know.” It was Samson, because of _course_ it was Samson. “Lean against me. Little steps. It’s going to be okay.”

 

“M’ sorry.” Drew slurred, and promptly passed out.

 

…

 

“Drew! No, shit-” Elias groaned, lowering the other man to the ground.

 

“He okay?” Roman called, sounding about as shaken as Elias felt.

 

“He overextended himself, I don’t think he’s hurt though.” Samson fumbled Drew’s hair out of his face, relieved to see that he didn’t appear to be injured. He had absolutely turned the tide of the fight, bodies lying broken in the wake of his wrath.

 

There had been a tense moment when Drew hauled the dazed Neville up by the front of his shirt, the blue-eyed stare of the raging feral going right through their fearless leader. But then Drew dropped him, turning instead to wrench the cattle prod out of another man’s hand and snap it in two.

 

Elias knew he shouldn’t be so worked up about this. There had been other raids. But they had never been led by someone that they had considered one of them before. Hell, Drew was still fresh meat and yet somehow _he_ was more on their side than AJ had ever been! Elias shook his head and watched Regal flit over the campsite, the pharmacist checking pulses and broken bones with his usual wry expression.

 

“What a randy Scot you’ve gotten ahold of!” Regal commented loudly, making Neville wheeze out a laugh. “At least all the breaks are clean, thank heavens for small favors.”

 

“We’re hitching up and getting the fuck out of here. AJ!” Neville walloped the former sheriff on the side, rolling him over onto his back. “You fuckin’ try this shite again, I’m gonna’ personally make sure your bank accounts are dry as a bone for the rest of your fuckin’ days. That clear enough for ya’, Peachy? I know money is a pretty big motivator for you.” Neville nodded at Elias. “Also, Samson’s charge will rip your arm clean out the socket if you ever come after us again.”

 

AJ went as pale as the snow beneath him, holding his broken arm to his chest and nodding frantically.

 

“Elias, get Drew inside and then you’re on body-moving duty. Baron and Love, help Samson shift all these unconscious pricks. Zip-tie AJ.” Neville gestured at Roman. “Roman and Mox, you’re with me on hitch duty. I want to be on the road in ten!”

 

Elias took grim pleasure in tying AJ’s wrists together tight enough to make the smaller man yelp. “We all know you’re going to get free, but maybe listen to Neville’s warning. I’d use this time to get your story straight.” Elias suggested. AJ snapped his teeth and spat up at him. “Your funeral, I guess. Hope you didn’t like having two functioning arms.”

 

…

 

_The cage ground to a halt beneath him. Braveheart struggled to stand now that the floor wasn’t moving, barely managing to pull himself upright by the bars of the cage._

 

“ _Right there, the lighting is better.” The ringmaster ordered and the cage shifted again, throwing Braveheart off balance. “Good, alright. Take the sides off so the folks can see it.”_

 

_Braveheart lurched for the front of the cage as soon as the wooden panel was removed, one massive paw swiping through the bars at the ringmaster who stayed wisely out of reach. “Fuck you!” Braveheart roared, knowing that it was pointless to lash out._

 

_But it was better than just sitting quietly, waiting for the next fight to determine his breeding rights. Especially since he refused to win most of his fights. Punishment landed indiscriminately whether his stomach was empty or full, whether he’d been milked or not. It made very little difference aside from lining the ringmaster’s pockets._

 

_The ringmaster sneered at him and Braveheart realized too late that it was a distraction tactic as the needle sank into his haunch. He clung desperately to the bars, still yelling abuse in a steadily-slurring voice while his body slowly wound down. A second needle jabbed him. God, he was so tired._

 

“ _Fuck you, y’ fuckin’ fuck piece a’ shet fuckin’…fuckin’…” He sank to the ground. Someone grabbed his arms and wrestled his limp body into the straitjacket. Groin strap pulled tight, the belts digging into already-chafed skin and…and he dissolved into the cool blackness._

 

_Gloved hands touched his face. Someone pulling at his chin, examining his teeth. He wanted to snarl, bite. Couldn’t. Nothing would cooperate. He wiggled his fingers in the sleeves of the jacket, tried to keep the blood flowing because he remembered what happened when he didn’t. God, he was so tired._

 

“ _How much for that one?”_

 

_That one, that one, chosen one, that one, Breeder-_

 

Drew started awake, his whole body covered in a sticky sheen of sweat. He wasn’t in the cage. Elias was sprawled out in the bunk across from him, long limbs half on the floor and loud snores issuing from his mouth.

 

Drew covered his face with his hands, trying to calm down from the memory-nightmare. He became aware of a strange sensation and his brow furrowed while he attempted to pin down what it was.

 

Nothing hurt, he realized abruptly. He didn’t feel feverish or achy anymore, for the first time in _weeks!_ Had the drugs finally run their course? Drew cautiously swung his legs over the side of the bunk and got to his feet.

 

His knees didn’t shake. His legs felt like they could _actually_ support him! Drew wanted to laugh but he stifled it, mindful of Elias sleeping inches from him. He bundled up and slowly popped open the door, the cold outside still taking his breath away but no longer rendering him a shivering mess.

 

The moon hung low in the sky, round and full with the slightest orange tint. How long had he been asleep for?

 

On the other side of the unfamiliar clearing was Mox’s trailer, and if Drew squinted he could make out the shadowy form of Roman laying on the roof. The other man seemed to have an odd habit of talking to the moon, but Drew supposed a coping mechanism probably wasn’t a bad idea in times like these. He made his way through the light snow, stomping a little louder than he needed to so Roman would know he was approaching.

 

Roman gracefully slid off the side and landed almost soundlessly next to the trailer. Drew was confused when he held out his mitten-covered hand to him, but then Roman dragged him into a fierce hug. “Thank you.” He mumbled into Drew’s shoulder. “Thank you for keeping us safe.”

 

“I-I…it uh. It wasnae trouble.” Drew stammered awkwardly.

 

Roman nudged his cheek with his nose, giving him a watery smile. “This is Neville’s weird thing that he does. He says it’s because we’re family.”

 

“He’s a bright one for bein’ a fuckin’ Sassenach.” Drew jibed, chuckling at the way Roman’s face crinkled. “Go on, ask.”

 

“What’s a Sass…Sassinage?”

 

“One a’ the _top_ lads.” Drew rumpled Roman’s already messy hair. “How’s Mox?”

 

“He’s okay. He was really tired, so I cuddled him for a while until he fell asleep.” Roman shrugged while Drew did his best not to sputter. He’d had no idea that…well, thinking on it _now_ he supposed it was pretty obvious.

 

“You two…ah, well, it’s nae business a’ mine now is it?” He finally said.

 

“Isn’t that what you did with Elias? He goes in there with you. Like Baron and his Love, or me and Mox.” Roman pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Ro, there isnae a snowball’s chance in fuck that Samson would fuckin’ _cuddle_ wit’ me. That’s some fuckin’ wishful thinkin’ if I ever heard any.” Drew chewed on his lower lip, discomfited by the way Roman kept staring at him. “What?”

 

“Do you _want_ him to? Is it scary for you? Like how it was for me with other people touching me?” Roman didn’t seem to have a subtle bone in his body. “Are you afraid?”

 

Drew huffed in a breath quickly. _Shit_. “Ro, I’ve heard about what y’ went through. I’d feel bad whinin’ over bein’ rigged up t’ a milker.”

 

“But you’ve dealt with something like I have.” Roman persisted. “Mox said I should be gentle with you like ‘Lias is.”

 

“Elias is my sponsor.” The chilly air seemed to be thinning. “He’s meant t’-”

 

“Protect you, make sure you’re safe, blah blah blah.” Roman rolled his eyes. “Look, that worked for Mox until I told him I felt… _things_. Maybe you could tell Elias that you feel _things_ , get the ball rolling.”

 

“W-Who’s sayin’ I need anythin’ from Elias?!” Drew huffed. “I’m a grown…man, I can take care of m’self until I’ve worked through whatever fuckin’ hangups there might be. I dinnae need Elias for that.”

 

“ _There_ you are, you gave me a fucking scare!” Drew jumped guiltily, turning to face Samson. The bearded man looked frazzled, his coat not even buttoned and his boots untied. “Thought something had happened, man, jeez. You feel any better now?” Elias continued.

 

“I er, that is, I was mentionin’ t’ Roman here that it seems t’ garbage they pumped int’ me has finally run its damn course.” Drew scrambled to explain, pleading Roman with his eyes to play along.

 

Roman, of course, waited long enough for it to be _blatantly_ awkward before nodding his head and smiling sweetly. “Yeah! That’s definitely what we were talking about.”

 

“Well good! I’m glad to hear it, guys.” Elias’ smile was so sincere Drew felt it settle in his chest.

 

“Elias, I-” He could practically _hear_ Roman holding his breath, the meddling bastard. “I-I wanted t’ know if I could trade t’ song for…for a story instead?”

 

“You can do whatever the hell you want, man. I’ll still sing at some point.” Elias laughed, slinging an arm around his shoulders and ushering him back towards the warmth of the trailer. “I’ll tell you any story you want to hear when we get inside. Night Roman!”

 

“You guys have fun!” Roman replied cheekily.

 

Once back inside the tiny living space (made even smaller by Drew’s large form and bulky jacket), Elias patted his mattress. “Take off your coat and stay a while, man. What story do you wanna’ know?”

 

Drew almost hated to ruin the lightness in his voice, fidgeting for a minute beside Samson. “Y’ wrists. An’ y’ neck.” He said finally. “Y’ wear all these scarves an’ kerchiefs ‘bout’cher. I jus’…I wanted t’ know what happened.”

 

Elias heaved a slow breath out. Not exactly a sigh, but too hard to be a regular exhale. “I was in a root cellar for a very long time.” He murmured.

 

“How l-“

 

“Fifteen years. Until they could find a buyer.” Elias answered before Drew could finish. “Shackled to the wall.”

 

“Parents?”

 

“Grandparents. I never knew my actual parents.” Elias stared at the wall opposite his bunk, fiddling with one of the bandannas stacked on his wrist. “I haven’t thought about Gramps and Gram in years. Huh.” He mused, half to himself.

 

“M’ sorry. I imagine thinkin’ ‘bout that mus’ be hard.” Drew apologized, feeling like the lowest person alive.

 

“Hey, if I didn’t want to answer I would have said so. It’s okay.” Elias shook his head, giving Drew a nudge with his shoulder. “I’m still gonna’ end up singing to you, one way or another.”

 

“Oh?” And why, _why_ did his stomach feel like it had just fallen out of his body? Drew swallowed hard. “Best make it a good tune then, ye?”

 

…

 

Elias didn’t know what the hell he was doing.

 

In the grocery store on Christmas Eve, minutes from closing time and he was standing in front of a wall of tiny boxes, his eyes narrowed while he read label after label. Finally he just gave up and picked a few at random, then practically sprinted to the registers.

 

_Here’s hoping_.

 

He still didn't know what the hell he was doing while Drew stared down at the assortment of boxes in his lap. “You uh...you mentioned pudding, so I...” Elias tried to explain his reasoning, feeling dumber by the second. “Merry...Yulemas?” He offered weakly.

 

Drew suddenly snorted, carefully depositing the boxes of instant pudding to one side. “Y' don't know much about puddin' if y' think it comes pre-made inna' box.” His smile made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “T' gesture is appreciated though. Thank you.” He looked back over at the stack of boxes, shaking his head. “You...ye're somethin' else. I cannae belive y' even remembered tha'.”

 

“You said...you said pudding.” Elias repeated, unsure of where he had gone wrong.

 

Drew's composure finally seemed to crack and he burst out laughing, tugging on Elias' arm so that he sat down beside him. “Delilah, y' ought t' know from y' friend Neville tha' sometimes the food is a mite bit differen' from what ye're thinkin' it is.”

 

“You said _pudding!_ ”

 

“Ye, our puddin' is on t' savory side. Not so much y' vanilla an' chocolate.” Drew knocked his forehead roughly into Elias'. “It was a good try.”

 

“Well fuck.” Samson said lamely. “I thought I was doing pretty good.”

 

“It's probably f' the best. I...my gift f' you isnae...” Drew paused, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I wen' t' Neville. He gave me a few pointers an'...well I dunno' much abou'--ugh, fuck.” Drew finally grunted, fishing around beneath his pillow and then dropping a small packet into Elias' hands.

 

“Are these...?”

 

“Strings.” Drew muttered, seeming embarrassed. “Nev sent me out like a fuckin' errand boy, dunno' if I even got t' right ones.”

 

Elias swallowed hard, rubbing his thumbs over the smooth plastic packaging. “I haven't been able to buy new strings in ages. I...God, now I feel like an even bigger ass for fucking up your gift.” He admitted.

 

“There is...one thing tha' could soften the blow.” Drew said, his voice oddly quiet. “I'm...nae very good at it, could use someone wi' experience if y' up t' teachin'.”

 

“Oh?” Elias asked curiously, tilting his head to the side. “Guitar?”

 

Drew bit his lip. “Y' mouth. On mine?” He asked hesitantly. “Like Baron an' his Love do.”

 

Samson was pretty sure he was about to hyperventilate. “ _Kissing?_ You want me to-”

 

“I dunno', I jus'...I mean I thought tha'...” Drew stammered, ducking his head. “I jus' wondered, is all.” He said softly through his thick curtain of hair. “Forget it, s' dumb.”

 

Elias cupped his chin, the strings forgotten on the mattress beside him. “I can do that.” He replied just as softly, his eyes searching Drew's. “If you want me to.”

 

“P...Please?” Drew breathed, sounding oddly desperate for someone who had been saying _forget it_ two seconds ago.

 

“Hold still, okay?” Elias rubbed his beard over Drew's cheek, hearing a shuddery inhale of breath. “Only me. You're safe here.” He whispered against the other man's lips.

 

Drew's kiss was hungry, clumsy. He had no real technique, but he certainly made up for it with sheer enthusiasm. And his _sounds_ , that was new for Elias, someone growling into his mouth while they kissed. Drew's hands ended up in his hair, tugging gently on the strands. “Thank y', Samson.” Drew sighed.

 

“You want more?” Elias asked, his heart tripping in his chest as Drew nodded eagerly. “Like what?”

 

“Harder, m' not gonna' fuckin' break.” As bold as his words were, Drew gulped audibly when Elias pulled on the belt loops of his jeans to haul him closer. His hips twitched at Samson's touch, pelvis canting forward. “Ah, Jesus-” Drew's mouth opened, his eyes half-lidding. “Fuck, Samson...”

 

“Should I kiss your neck? Huh?” Elias asked, mouthing over the skin that Drew willingly presented. The other man groaned loudly, rocking his hips up against Samson's thigh.

 

“Yes, God _yes_ , please, no one's ever... _ah_ , fuck's sake-” Drew panted, making Elias realize that this was _all_ new to him.

 

Samson slid his hands into the back pockets of Drew's jeans, mouth still firmly involved with the side of Drew's neck as he coaxed the other man into humping his thigh. Drew gasped, his face landing in the hollow of Samson's shoulder while he ground his hips down. Elias could feel the heat and thick arch of him through his sweatpants, the sensation beyond arousing. “Drew, would it bother you if I...touched myself, while you keep going?” Elias asked carefully, hating that he had to stop kissing Drew's neck to speak.

 

Drew's motion paused.

 

“If that makes you uncomfortable, I can absolutely wait.” Elias soothed, fearing he'd overstepped. “This is for you.”

 

“Want t' touch.” Drew said all in a rush, his burr thick with need. “Y' like me enough t' do tha' in fron' a me, is it bad tha' I wanna' touch?”

 

“No, _God_ no. Do you want me to touch you while you touch me?”

 

Drew shook his head violently, his fingers already fumbling with the drawstring on Elias' sweatpants. “M' good like this. Can't... _don't_ wan' t' be touched yet.” He rutted himself against the tensed muscle of the bearded man's thigh. “Show me.” Samson covered Drew's hand on his cock, doing just that as he wordlessly demonstrated how he liked stroking himself with spit-slicked fingers. Drew moaned deep in his throat, bucking his hips a little faster. “ _Fuck_ , 'Lias.”

 

“That's right, fuck yourself on my leg.” Samson panted, “Use me to get off, I'm here for you to use-”

 

Drew's full weight shoved Samson's back to the mattress so quickly his head spun, the larger feral grinding his hips down with sharp, brutal snaps. Drew snarled and arched his back, one hand still working Elias' cock just the way he'd showed him while the other splayed on Elias' chest to hold himself up.

 

“Come f' me.” Drew gritted out, “Come f' me because I'm abou' t' come an' I need y' to, I need it-” He pleaded, his grip tightening to clumsily tease the head of Samson's cock. Samson cried out and Drew echoed the noise desperately, half a note lower and twice as ragged. “Oh God, please, please, fuck, _please_ -”

 

Elias tugged him down for a kiss and thrust his hips up to meet Drew's fist, his come spilling over the other man's hand. Drew muttered a string of incoherent swears that didn't sound entirely English, pulling back and then shuddering to a stop. Samson panted for breath and watched Drew's cock twitch visibly in his jeans, the fabric darkening while Drew slowly rocked his body back and forth.

 

“ _Fuck_.” Drew groaned, hanging his head. “I...God, it jus' stops righ' then. That's fuckin' _nice_.” His tongue lolled out and he licked at Elias' chest, seeming almost in a daze.

 

Samson just held him close, ignoring the mess that they had made for the time being. “Was that alright?” He murmured after he'd stroked Drew's hair for a while.

 

“ _Mm_. Used t' a machine.” Drew sighed, obviously fighting sleep so he could answer the question. “O'er-sens'tive.” Samson fell silent, just continuing to lightly finger-comb Drew's long tresses. “Thank y' again for th' puddin', Delilah.” Drew slurred, making Elias snicker and roll him onto his back.

 

“Merry Christmas, Drew.” He nuzzled their noses together affectionately, luxuriating in Drew's sleepy smile. “Once my guitar is restringed, you're definitely getting lessons.”

 

“ _Fuck_ ye, try n' stop me.”

 


End file.
